Two men walked into the restaurant. They were businessmen, or at least men on business. One was tall and husky with an athletic build. Not a body builder, mind you, an athlete—someone who used his muscles for running and hitting like a football player, or for standing perfectly motionless like a hunter stalking. His face was fresh tanned; sunburn pink still glowed through in places. It was a second-week tourist look. His eyes were quick; they darted everywhere. He fingered the fine linen table cloth when they sat down, laid out his napkin with relish, and watched the waitresses intently as they moved about the room.
His companion noted none of the surroundings, except as they reflected in the tall man’s eyes.
“So you like my little watering-hole here,” the second commented after their orders had been taken. He took out a pocket voice recorder and put it down on the table.
“Yes, it’s good to be back in civilization. You know, I do love the finer things in life, at least some of them. … Do you need to have that recorder out where I can see it?”
“No, of course not,” said the second man. He picked it up and put it back in his coat, still on. “It’s the custom of this world to leave such things out in the open when you use them.”
“Ah yes, new worlds, new customs. Fortunately we’re all built the same on the inside.” He paused for a moment to watch the waitresses again. Then the tall man started into his story as the second man listened intently.