Last night I went once again to Sant Ambroeus. I was seated next to Warren Christopher who was having dinner with a bald man and a young woman who spoke English with an Eastern European accent.
None of the other guests seemed to notice Warren Christopher. I didn’t see any security detail.
After Mr. Christopher left the manager came to my table. “Do you know who sat next to you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I know.” The manager shrugged his shoulders. “He is getting older,” the manager said.