I called myself 'the numerator', I was able to see the top number of everyone's fraction, whether they were vulgar or not. Sorry - by fraction, I mean age, it's a bit of a personal joke I keep, to make light of this strange talent I was born with. Of course, the denominator of everyone's age was 1, and so I'd taught myself to ignore this element of the fraction over time.

Upon discovering and accepting my quirk in my younger years I did a certain amount of experimenting with the numbers, to try and understand questions like why, and how, but the results of my experiments were never fruitful.

Clearly, I wasn't your typical bouncer.

My innate ability gave me a head start in some aspects of the job, for sure, but my slight build and initial awkwardness when interacting with people meant that I had to prove my worth to potential employers.

I didn't want to reveal my ability to people. I was worried I would be shunned more still, and thought of as a total outcast.

As a result, I applied and was rejected from a large number of places, many where you wouldn't even consider a bouncer necessary. With a stroke of luck and a family connection, I was taken on at my local pub, The Kings Head. Friday and Saturday nights shifts only.

While the shift patterns were shit and the pub rather quiet I couldn't complain too much- it paid the bills and made use of my one apparent unique ability.

There was something incredibly odd about the place though.

Not something, rather, someone. He was a piece of the furniture. I'd never not seen him in there, pint of bitter in hand.

Based on appearances, I would've estimated him as being in his sixties, a retiree with unkept stubble and receding, greying hair.

While he scarcely interacted with a soul, he had this aura about him; you could sense something was different about him and I had these suspicions confirmed by colleagues.

Colleagues that obviously couldn't see what I could.

His number.

Never before had my intuitions been wrong.

It wasn't just the size of his number, but the nature of it. His number shone to two decimal places. I tried not to stare at him too much but I'm sure he could sense my interest in him, my attempts to subtle appeared to be in vain.

Initially, I told myself that I was wrong. I told myself that it couldn't be, and that I should get a grip of myself.

Eventually, the questions were eating my up and I knew I would have to speak to him.

The following Friday evening, just before close, I seized my opportunity.

I ensured that no one would overhear our conversation and sat down opposite him. Nerves of this kind I had not felt in some time; my heart was beating out of my chest as I tried desperately to remain externally calm.

He looked up from his paper, briefly, to look at me.

Well, not at me. Just above my head. Exactly where my fraction would be.

'You ain't never seen a decimal place before, have you boy.'

The first words I'd heard him speak, words that confirmed my suspicions and words that propelled so many questions to the forefront of my brain.

For I knew, that 456.66 was equal 1370/3...