Passing time in the hotel bar.

Magic sieges have been delayed, I got this idea after reading a story in the Washington Post.

"You just can't escape anymore."

My sole companion at this shabby hotel bar had been muttering to himself for most of the evening while watching CNN spool endlessly on the television above the bar. I glanced up, it was a story about the Chinese testing facial recognition technology. I took a sip of my Czech pilsner -- shabby bar, but good beer -- and for the first time since I'd entered really looked at the man a few seats down from me.

Mid- 70s, at a guess. A worn brown suit that was a half-size too big. The remains of a plate of nachos were still in front of him. His left hand was unconsciously curled over the plate. A former prisoner, I surmised, used to defending his food.

"And where were you planning on escaping to, my friend?" He jumped at my voice, turned to face me. He had sharp blue eyes. I felt a small thrill as I recognized that he was reading me, head to toe. "Because, to be honest, neither of us are escaping anywhere tonight." I tipped my beer towards the screen showing airport conditions. thick snow and heavy winds. The line of flights with red "canceled" flags marched up the screen like troops on May Day.

He smiled. It changed his whole face. The eyes were now twinkling, his cheeks ruddy. It was now a face you could trust. "Oh, nowhere, not tonight. I'm just sad that it's getting harder and harder for a man to escape from his past and start over. Go to a new place and start from scratch. These days everything is on the damn internet and now the Chinese want to track you on the streets as well. You can't use a card to buy a bag of groceries without an ass-load of companies learning about you, and more and more places won't even take cash!" He took a long pull of his beer. "It's just . . . it's just not fair. It encroaches on our freedoms." He reached over and held out his hand. "Jim Somerset, pleased to meet ya."

"Simon." I took the offered hand we shook briefly. "I understand, trust me. I've had to start over a few times, and not having the baggage of a past laying heavy on you as you try to rise is a blessing. My need to leave was usually driven by my having worn out my welcome. People can be terrible to their guests. What makes you crave distant shores?"

Jim gave a low whistle. "Damn, you sound like a poet! You ever do any writing?"

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged. I was educated in Italy and spent many fine years wandering through Europe. I picked up a taste for poetry then."

"Fair enough. Well, Simon, to answer your question, three days ago I was released from the federal pen at Terre Haute after 15 years. I'm a con man, a retired con man. I'm heading to Florida to live with my brother. But when I was still working the job, I always had four identities that would fool any cop. After a job I could change my look -- I got that kind of face, y'see -- and go be someone else somewhere else until the heat died down. I'd been a mechanic in the Army, so usually, I'd find a service station with a help wanted sign."

I signaled to the bartender that we both needed refills on my tab.

Jim was still talking. "But sometime while I was inside, the world changed. Now everybody leaves bright trails everywhere, you can't do anything without the world seeing it because everyone has a goddamn TV camera in their pockets! My sister came to pick me up from the pen. My grand-niece did something called 'live streaming." Next thing I know, I got 700 strangers watching me walk out the gates. Where's privacy gone? Even if I wanted to go back on the job," There was that grin again. "which I don't, in case you're a cop or something, how could I now?"

"Then maybe it is a good thing for you to retire. You are right, this modern world is no place for adventurous souls like you and I. Oh, yes, I have danced on the saber's edge many times, but like you, I always had the option of slipping into a new face and role. Now the net has tightened. I admit I am facing some hard decisions about some secrets I have been keeping for a long time. I am a bit set in my ways, but we both must concede that the world is marching past us."

Jim's eyes were at the slightly glassy stage of early intoxication. "Buddy, that's the most beautiful way anyone has ever said 'we're fucked' ever." We both roared with laughter over that. Jim finished off his beer and looked at me apologetically. "I'm really sorry, but your name just slipped my mind."

"It happens to all of us, my friend. I am honored to be Simon St. Germain. My friends call me The Count."