Is Your Name Charlie?

THE first time I met Charlie, I was standing next to the coffee jug at our small regular meeting place, when the door opened up, and a stranger about thirty-five or forty years old with a crop of grayish-white hair, a nose that looked like it had been broken once and a merry twinkle in his eye, walked in. He took one look around, and said, "This must be the place! There's the coffee." He walked over to me, stuck out his friendly paw, and said, "My name's Charlie, what's yours?"