One of the things Wednesday liked most about the modern era was the tradition of getting absolutely shit-faced at the New Year. Or any time of year for that matter.

Inebriation was a cause he could stand fully behind.

So, it was no surprise when he meandered out as the sun set, already far along in his cups. It was May Day, godsdammit, and what better way to celebrate than with a bonfire, music and a large quantity of booze.

He'd seen the fliers, of course. They had sort of become omnipresent. So, with a drink in his hand he walked over to the youth lying in the grass.

"Happy New Year, son," he said, louder than was probably necessary. "And who are you? I never was good with you Greeks."