Morgan was plagued with the same thought, as he Apparated into London and slowly made his way toward the bar. Miles had been a gangly teenager the last time they'd seen each other and that was still what Morgan pictured, even though he knew it couldn't be accurate (on more levels than one; Miles hadn't had such a foul mouth back then, nor been so angry, unless memory had failed). In his eagerness to push his cousin into a meeting, Morgan had forgotten that they were virtually strangers and that it might have helped if someone had worn a particular color shirt, or held up a sign, or something else to mark them apart. It being London, the chances were high that there would be at least a thousand other people wearing the same shirt and holding up signs, but at least he wouldn't walk past his own flesh and blood on accident. How embarrassing.
Although Morgan had a passing familiarity with Muggles, he was much less comfortable in cities -- all of the traffic, and the noise; by the time he reached Lexington Street, he was feeling distinctly out of his element. Now that he thought about it, Miles's branch of the family had never been too fond of his own; it was odd that Miles had agreed to a meeting with his wayward, halfblood cousin, much less in public, much less in a Muggle space. Times had certainly changed, though, and he was hopeful that in this one thing it was for the better.
There were a few scattered tables outside the building. Morgan double-checked the address against the scrap of parchment in his pocket, and looked doubtfully through the windows. There were a few young people crowded around a table, laughing and drinking; a woman and a man apparently on a date; a businessman near the window talking into a black thing held to his ear. None of them were the right age. There were people sitting at the tables outdoors, too, but the gaggle of girls obviously wasn't right, and the scruffy-looking man smoking couldn't --
The man turned his head, tapped his cigarette out against the ashtray. Nothing about him jumped out at Morgan immediately, but there was something familiar about the shape of the face, the color of the eyes -- it reminded him a bit of a photograph hanging in the living room of his parents' house. Uncle Michael. The man resembled the uncle he'd only seen a few times in life. Morgan approached the table, already prepared to be apologetic if he were to be wrong. "Pardon, but I came here to meet someone, and you look like you might -- are you Miles?"