Dr. McConnell was about 65 and balding. His grizzled mustache moved in an undulating motion when he chewed. When he didn't have food in his mouth he puffed on a cigarette, oblivious to how his guests felt about the noxious fumes. Mrs. McConnell was a dumpy woman who needed to do something, anything, with her short, gray hair.
The meal was a vegetarian delight. Alex had just spent almost six months in space where meat was rehydrated, tasteless, and expensive as hell.