He had a strong fleeting impulse to tell somebody, anybody, just for the companionship of another human being. Immediately, the thought passed.
"I have just come down from a space satellite," he would say, "where I encountered forty-seven disappearing men and a naked man in open space—"
He looked around for the nearest drugstore. It was quite dark in the streets and he was not too conspicuous in the tight army clothes—a field jacket will fit an elephant—but he could not help feeling like a neon sign. But a gun. He needed a gun, and a quick way out of here.
Hell, where could you get a gun?
From the police.
He looked around seriously and purposefully, but no blue coat was near. He walked into the drugstore.
At the counter there were five people. All with their backs turned. The counter man was a young boy with a fat nose. Web slipped into the phone booth, deciding on an impulse to call Dundon anyway. It was possible that he would die soon, and there ought to be someone who knew about the naked man.
In his pockets were a half dollar and three pennies. No other change. He swore.
At that moment he looked up out of the booth, saw a small, dry man walk stiffly into the store.
He froze.