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A uniformed police officer about Dale’s height stood in front of the conference room’s main doors. He looked a few years older than Dale, maybe fortyish, with a touch of gray around his temples. Dale expected a uniformed officer that age to have at least the start of a gut, but he looked as slim around the middle as a teenager.
The kaleidoscopic congoers passing by instinctively left a five-foot gap around him, as if a literal brush with the law would taint their permanent records.
Dale’s stomach grumbled, and he flew his hand up to cover his mouth. Great. As if feeling sweaty and achy wasn’t enough, his stomach was edging towards full-on insurrection. He needed to never buy that brand of protein bar again. What had it been called?
The officer noticed Dale’s stare and focused his ga
