Ill omens can arrive in the most unassuming, seemingly benign manner.
The fellow’s hair and well-trimmed beard are photogenic Medicare-commercial gray. His frame still lanky, his legs were gnarled under the visitor’s radio section table.
I approached.
“Dave Corzine?”
Curious, somewhat quizzically, his eyes raised above his reading peepers.
“Yes?”
“I still have nightmares about you,” I said in mock diatribe.
He smiled.
“You chewed us up and spit us out.”
His laugh then full.
“Yes, I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that one. What a great game.