"They have, eh? How big?"
"Several times bigger than anything we Americans have."
The beer came and looked good, so I ordered a glass too.
Paul said, "What ever happened to those poxy flying saucers?"
"What flying saucers?"
A French girl went by with a poodle so finely clipped as to look as though it'd been shaven. The girl was in the latest from Paris. Every pore in place. We both looked after her.
"You know, what everybody was seeing a few years ago. It's too bad one of these bloody manned satellites wasn't up then. Maybe they would've seen one."
"That's an idea," I said.
We didn't say anything else for a while and I began to wonder if I could go back to my paper without rubbing him the wrong way. I didn't know Paul very well, but, for that matter, it's comparatively seldom you ever get to know anybody very well in Tangier. Largely, cards are played close to the chest.