The door to the pub swings open, a man walks in and crosses the floor to the bar slowly. He would be described as weirdly dressed if this wasn’t Soho.

“5 double vodkas please mate.” He says to the barman, who glances at the clock.

“Bit early for that kind of order isn’t it?” But he knew that with those kind of orders, it was never too early. He didn’t even wait for a response before pouring out the drinks.

The man knocked back three of the drinks quickly, and paused to contemplate the last two. For the first time the barman got a look at his face, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such misery. “Cheer up mate, it might never happen.”

“I can assure you it will.”

“You can’t know that, if it hasn’t happened yet.”

“But I’ve seen it, well, the start of it.” He sunk another double.

“What, time traveler are we?”

“Yes.”

This kind of claim should invite ridicule, especially after four doubles, but he didn’t sound boastful or proud, more ashamed. The barman put down the glass he was drying.

“What happens?”