The stranger licked the foam tentatively and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He put the glass back on the bar and shook his head.
"Pro superi! quantum mortalia pectora caecae, Noctis habent."
"Huh?" said Jimmy.
The stranger smiled briefly. "That is Latin. It means, Oh, ye gods, what darkness of night there is in mortal minds."
Jimmy shrugged and went back to wiping glasses. The stranger nodded to me. "Ovid said that. He was a wise man."
"Friend of yours?" I asked, just to be polite.
"He died nearly two thousand years ago." He tasted the beer again and pushed it away. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Horace Howard Clarke, associate professor of Roman History at one of the universities in the city."
I introduced myself and we shook hands. "Tell me," he said, "do you believe New York can be conquered?"
One of those kind, I thought. And here I was with an hour to kill before meeting my date. "Lots of people have taken it in," I started.
"I don't mean that kind. I mean physically invaded."