December 31st, 23:59:00. At the London Bridge.
Bridget handed Michael a cold can of beer.
"Thank you," Michael said gratefully as he accepted the can of beer and felt its cold, smooth surface against his palm. He pressed his thumb into the metal tab, listening to the soft hiss as the pressure released. A burst of carbonation followed, and a faint mist rose from the can as the aroma of hops and malt wafted through the air.
Michael tilted the can slightly, taking a cautious sip to avoid the frothy head of foam that had formed.
It was a simple pleasure, a moment to relax and unwind as the final seconds of the year ticked away.
Standing next to him was his mother. He wrapped his arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. Myra leaned into him, a contented smile on her face as they watched the bustling scene on London Bridge. The crowd was growing, their excitement building as they anticipated the New Year's Eve fireworks.
