"Like dried?"
"Some of it. Like it came off an eave. But some of was rather wet and sticky. Here have a looksee," the woman took the man's sportcoat out of the paper grocery bag in his hands. The academic with a detective bend viewed the splattered jacket. "And why do you suppose someone might pelt you with recycled bird doodoo?"
The woman started to speak for the man opening with the snipe, (i)communists(i), but the professor held up a hand and waved her (i)down, down(i), "Madam, kindly let the man speak for himself."
"Knock, knock. Ready? Can we come in?"
A PS carrying stacks and stacks of paperwork on background story and potential "helpers" behind the knot of older women meet-and-greeting younger women with blue pencil in mouth, said, "Are you not the Secretary of State? I don't think you have to ask." She pushed through the knot and pushed the door open with her backside.
Alert eyes, perfectly seated, dressed in their best, but holding back verbally young women watched as the Hill's venerated entered the old room being transitioned to conference. "I'm not really here," explained the PS. "Just helping people get to where they need to be." Little nods.
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