PHILIPPE ESPINASSE

The rain finally stopped. Andrew Short, a tall, fair-haired Australian in his late thirties finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle of Beck's in a street bin. He followed D'Aguilar Street and then Wellington Street towards his home, in the nearby district of Sheung Wan. It had, yet again, been a boozy evening and, by now, he had really had enough. Things had started with late afternoon drinks at the Captain's Bar at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, with fellow bankers. A team dinner at a private kitchen had followed. It had ended far too late. Against his best judgment, his senses already dulled by the alcohol, he had gone to Lan Kwai Fong with some of his colleagues for a nightcap.