London, Shepherd’s Bush, around 9.30 am. I was out drinking my tea on the hostel’s terrace. A tall, bald man in his early 30s by the looks of it asked for permission to join me at the table. He had this silky ladylike scarf around his neck – definitely gay by posture and dress. I said alright, mainly due to the fact that, apart from us being there, the terrace was completely empty and it would have been impolite to refuse. He sat down and lit a cigarette, then asked me where I was from. “Romania”, I told him. “You?” It turned out he was a Hungarian from Budapest. “Budapest. Nice city – sort of slow during the summer”, I replied. It was quite windy and he threw his scarf over his head. The clouds were moving quickly overhead, which brought up the usual subject: weather. “Shifty weather here in London, isn’t it?”, I said. He made a remark about global warming, finally blaming it on “all the people fucking and multiplying like rabbits”. Sort of an awkward weather conversation that came to a sudden halt. My tea was almost finished, so I uttered an excuse and left him alone on the terrace to meditate about global warming, overpopulation and why not, gaydom’s role in preventing this.