The young man looked quite earnest, although his tendency to stare was unnerving Clark.
“What paper did you say you were with again?” he asked, as he grabbed his coffee cup. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late.
“The New York Times. I’m just a new reporter, but I really admire your work.”
For some reason, Clark’s head itched. The young man continued to stare at him.
“Mr. Silar, I don’t know what I can do for you.”
Silar continued to stare at him for a long moment then sighed. With a last, oddly longing look at Clark's forehead, he stood up.
He said “Perhaps I was wrong to come to see you this early. I’ll be seeing you later.”
For some reason Clark thought he heard a clock ticking.
