Chapter 237 Futures

The stranger looked nowhere near impressive; more like any Tom, Dick, or Harry on the streets. By the stubbles and dashes of white in his hair and the wrinkles crayoning his face, he looked over forty years old. A man in his late-middle age, looking hardly unusual nor remarkable. But it intrigued me that he was here in a restaurant like this. But it was odd. Why was I wondering about his looks when I should be feeling bothered about him intruding on our dinner? He sat at our table, looking as if he was one of us and all of us had our eyes trained upon him.