Shibboleth

The man who dined opposite me wore an immaculate tuxedo. He was a wryly sort of fellow. The variety who probably ran lung bursting marathons on a regulary basis. Our eyes caught several times. I managed a weak smile of congeniality….it was after all supposed to be one of those evenings where everyone reminded themselves at least ten times not to make an ass of themselves.

The man wore a curious lapel pin. From where I was…I could swear it was the insignia of the interspacing guild.