Every time I go for a run, after my morning coffee, I take a left at the end of the street and go along the riverside, and at the port I watch the sunrise for a while as it lights up the Statue of Liberty on the other side of the bay.
     Cybele knows my morning ritual very well, so when I came home that Friday, running up the steps to our brownstone, opening the door and walking through the hall to the library, I wasn't too surprised when she asked: "Was she there?"
     "If you mean the Statue of Liberty, then yes, no need to worry, she's perfectly alright."
     I'm quite used to her rather unusual openers, but I can never guess what's coming next. This time, however, I was forced to react to the fact that, in the armchair for guests, sat a man in a suit. I recognised him from photos I'd seen in newspapers and on TV.
     Our visitor had arrived unannounced, and had evidently awaited my return. Changing out of my running clothes would only have held things up, so I went straight up to him to introduce myself.
     "Attis," I said.