But this fellow offered me a job, you see. Seems like a nice guy. Apparently there's some question as to whether or not he's a "real" American, and a bunch of looney-tunes keep asking him for a copy of his birth certificate. But he does live in this really smashing house, nice set-back, beautiful rose garden. Anyway, I'm supposed to drop by again on my way back from Southern European City week after next. So there's that to contend with, too. I hear he's pretty persuasive.
