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"Tom, right? No no, that's not it. I'm sorry son. I seem to have forgotten your name. "It's Ben, sir," said Ben. "Ben Franklin." He shifted a little in the too comfortable red satin chair that had been offered to him...at some point that he could not remember. And he waited for a reply.

"Ah right... Mr. Franklin what can I do for y- OH!!!" The man in the shadows is hopping up and down now, like a wild beast. "Oh! Ben Franklin! Of course! I see it now! Yes! How utterly foolish of me! What a putrid, puerile, putrile buffoon I am! I should throw myself upon my sword if I had one!" he shouts landing on the ground after a final bounce. And he instantly regains his composure. A smirking statue again. “Really, I should give my mother a smack for not raising that right…that is if…she were ever around, and my father, well I should treat him even the worser. This is so embarrassing. Really. It’s ironical is what it is. Perhaps even subironical, and iridescentrifical."

Ben found himself rolling his eyes slightly. The man in the shadows slapped a desk that was suddenly between them, and they were closer together now weren’t they? Ben’s eyes snapped back to meet the man’s.

“I think I shouldn’t be here. I should be going,” Ben began, and correctly so.

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