Mr Hook's Big Black Box

«Reunion»

The street was thronged with people, many of them wearing anachronistic clothes in a trip back to their college days. There were more than a few college sweaters in evidence, some worn or patched and some clearly not worn since graduation, dug out of the back of some closet. Maybe some of the retro clothes were even new; the turn of the century was old enough to be inspiring retro fashions this year. A couple of geeks by the doors to the sports hall were laughing out loud as they challenged each other to their favourite games on handheld consoles that were limited to two dimensions. Everybody was excited, everyone forcing a smile until their faces started to ache as they met friends they hadn't seen in more than a decade.

The banner at the front of the hall said 'Lanchester Universitay Welcomes the class of 2009', carefully replicating a typo from the information packs many of these people had received when they first arrived as students all those years ago. One of the guys on the Reunion Committee was recounting, for what felt like the twentieth time, the story of all the hassle he had to go through, sending the banner back to the print shop three times before the spellcheck would allow it to go through how he wanted.

From inside the hall, the faint strains of music drifted out. It sounded very millennial, but only the most hardcore pop fans could have remembered the names of the bands now.

There had been a few minor incidents, as old enemies as well as old friends met up. Someone slapped or spat at over insults that should have been long forgotten, or ancient rivals demanding a rematch for a long ago drinking contest in one of the college bars and forgetting that their livers weren't quite as young as they used to be. It wasn't such a big deal when a chrome-heavy sports car drifted low over the crowds and a man in a red leather jacket dropped down to the ground, clutching the end of his seatbelt like a one-handed rappelling line. He looked around, grinned, and took a half bow. He didn't really have the admiring audience he'd expected though.

"Is that Martin Cheese?" he thought he heard a female voice amid the babble of the crowds, "What a poser!"

"Yeah," another stranger chipped in, "you think the money's made him worse?"

"I doubt that's even possible."

Cheese flicked his collar back into its preferred position with his thumbs, straightened the more-retro-than-thou Ray-Bans, and paced towards the sports hall. There were some ladies he was sure would be amazed by how much he had made of his life, it was just a matter of finding them. The car sailed away on cruise, the downdraft from overpowered engines making over-styled hair wave slightly as it looked for a parking spot. He didn't care too much what nobodies thought of him, people he'd not met before or classmates he didn't think worth remembering. He knew he was the height of fashion, successful enough that everyone would know his name, but still with the reckless and unpredictable attitude of a young man thinking outside the box. His hair was spiked at the front today, a callback to styles from his youth, and he was wearing a red leather jacket, fleshtone T-shirt, and tight jeans to show off his well-toned muscles. The boots, as always, were imitation gatorskin, with spurs. His grandad had started off the family fortune making those boots, and it would be the deepest disrespect to wear anything else.

Inside the hall, there were a hundred different conversations going on, fighting to be heard over the music. The committee had decided to hold a reunion for students from the most memorable years of their lives, but they hadn't really known how these things normally ran so had decided to go their own way. Fifteen years on, the attendance was near complete, but nobody was quite sure what to expect from the first full-size reunion ever held here.

It turned out the sports hall was filled with people, no room for a dance floor or anything like that. Market stalls selling memorabilia, both the current styles and what the same students might have seen around all those years before. Sweaters with the college name and the year on, or replicas of the sports teams' old uniforms. Music from the era, on physical CDs, and posters from ancient movies. Some of the cafés on campus had even chipped in by revitalising an old menu, in some cases very similar to what the students of today were eating.