second cup of melange and I was still working on my first. The man loved his caffeine and was a regular at half of the cafes around the city.

After having finished our coffee, we moved out into the unusually warm October evening, chatting all the while—him doing most of the talking and myself agreeing or contributing when appropriate. Despite our being jovial with one another, you should probably be aware, as I was, that the fact that he was older and more accomplished than me played something of a power role in our relationship. Although we were friends in our private time, to me he was always my teacher in the first line.

We'd not agreed on a set destination, opting instead to amble aimlessly along the streets and through the parks of Vienna. It was only when I heard him say, "You live around here, isn't that right, Gustav?" that I realised we'd happened upon the vicinity of my street.

I'd been so engrossed in our discussion I hadn't paid attention to where we were going. Somewhat ashamed, I nodded.

Without a hint of sarcasm or judgement Franz exclaimed, "Well then, you shall have to give me the grand tour!" and began walking toward my flat. Hesitantly I followed suit, silently cursing myself all the while for having let us end up here.

Somewhat reluctantly I welcomed him into my little home, apologizing for the state of my cramped quarters. He quipped about his own humble beginnings and said something about great men having to start somewhere. This pleasantly surprised me and put me at ease.

I rummaged through my tiny pantry, coming across an expensive bottle of schnapps I'd been given by a fellow student from a wealthier background on my last birthday but had never opened, so I could at least offer him something. There was not a morsel of food in the flat.

He seemed to pay no mind to my underwhelming abode and while I poured our drinks our discussion instantly picked up where it had left off.

We drank to our friendship, to what he termed my "brilliant future" and nearly everything else he could come up with to toast. The clear liquid burned my throat and warmed my belly. I was soon feeling relaxed and content, and finding it much easier to chat animatedly with Franz.

We carried on conversing well into the evening, pleasantly passing the hours. With a few drinks inside us, the barriers between us gave way to a comfortable frankness usually shared between good friends of considerable years.

The sun had long since set and evening had fallen. Franz was on the subject of the fairer sex by the time I'd got up to light the lamp. Its glow bathed the room in the dimmest of light, but it was rather cosy. We'd got through about half of the liquor by now, the subject matter of our conversation growing progressively raunchier the more we drank.

His inhibitions dulled, he meandered onto the topic of sex. And although an unorthodox area for our discussions thus far, it was not at all unwelcome or unpleasant. Soon he was boastfully regaling me with tales of his conquests during his years at the conservatory, some in subtle terms, others in surprisingly forthright detail. This added a whole new dimension