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tried Googling him?”
    “Yeah, and all I got was his company website, which is basically just his name and contact details.”
    “Weird. Well, just ‘cause he says he’s Ralph T Emerson doesn’t make it true. And you’re hardly one to talk. You don’t go by your real name.”
    “That’s different. I don’t like my real name.”
    “Yeah, well maybe Ralph doesn’t like his. Come to think of it, what’s this mysterious nickname he called you? The one nobody’s supposed to know?”
    “It’s not important.”
    CC cocked her head, her eyes softening. “Is it to do with your scars?” She traced a fingertip along her jaw line and down her neck, perfectly charting the wound that had almost killed me. I had plenty of other marks from my last night in Sacramento, but the s-shaped scar on the right side of my face was the big attention-grabber.
    “It’s not Scarface,” I said, second-guessing her. “The scars came later.”
    “Oh. That would’ve been cool though. What about your sunglasses, is it something to do with them?”
    “I wasn’t wearing shades then, either.”
    “Man, you must’ve looked so different. Like a regular dude.”
    “I still like to think I’m a regular dude.”
    CC snorted with laughter. “I love you, Sam, but you’re a long way from regular.”
    I smiled, conceding her point. Since the age of twenty-five, I’d suffered from photophobia, a severe sensitivity to light. Sunlight was the worst, bringing on a stabbing pain behind my eyes, even when I wore polarized aviator shades. That’s why, eight years ago, I made the decision to turn the day upside down: sleeping during daylight hours and only venturing out at night.
    The lifestyle adjustments were difficult at first. It took my brain a while to associate morning with bedtime, and nighttime with getting up. Then there were the practical challenges. Getting hold of clients outside business hours. Having to turn down work when it involved lunch meetings or travel. Even mundane tasks became a hassle, like taking the car in for a tune-up, or finding a dentist who was open after 7pm. But the extra effort was a small price to pay to protect my eyes from the sun. And before long, I thought nothing of operating on a different timetable to the rest of the world. It became my new routine.
    While the night was easier on my eyes, there were still some simple rules I had to follow. Harsh indoor lights could make my head throb, even behind dark glasses, so I tended to avoid shopping malls, supermarkets, train stations and fast food restaurants (none of which I lost any sleep over). In fact, sports stadiums were the only brightly-lit venues I occasionally pined for.
    I also had to be careful what I looked at. Television and computer screens needed to have their brightness levels turned down. I couldn’t peer inside the fridge for too long. Even car headlights could cause me grief, especially if the roads were jammed and the approaching lights streamed into one. But in the vast majority of nighttime situations, my dark glasses provided ample protection from the glare of artificial light. Better yet, there were some places where I didn’t need shades at all. Dark restaurants and bars, outdoor locations like parks and beaches, and in the two places I spent the most time, my apartment and the office, where light control dimmers were like balm for my eyes.
    Within these confines, I’d managed to forge a life for myself. It wasn’t an easy life by any means, but it was probably close to what I deserved.
    “I don’t like regular guys, anyway,” CC said. “I probably wouldn’t have fancied you back then.”
    “You prefer a man with scars?”
    “Absolutely! I keep telling you – girls dig scars.”
    “They’re intrigued by scars,” I corrected. “There’s a big difference.”
    “You’re saying girls don’t like intrigue?”
    “No, I’m saying in my experience, intrigue is something they prefer to enjoy from afar. Like murder