I was a little dazzled by his reply. It was so... elegantly worded; so smooth. I suddenly felt ashamed of my blunt, rather choppy one. But he seemed nice enough, and willing to oblige my request. I had no idea why. I am no one special. Just a normal 26-year-old Londoner, working at a record store with another girl who might be my only real friend. I am in no way a model, as James could well be if he wanted to, though I certainly don't consider myself ugly. But I just don't stand out in any way.
However, this train of thought stopped fairly soon after it left the station. I wasn't about to question my good luck. There's something about gift horses and their mouths that I think is relevant here. So, I quickly wrote back. "James, That sounds like a good plan. Just out of curiosity though, why Hackney Marshes? A little remote, don't you think? Wouldn't you rather talk about things over some Chinese or something?"
Hackney Marshes is one of the most out-of-the-way places in London. A small park (if you can call it a park) on the fringes of the city where the more...colorful characters of the city tend to congregate. The early-morning joggers and dog-walkers and the late-night beggars and runaways. It's one of those places you avoid walking too close to if you can. And it seemed a very strange meeting place.