One day at the office, I had an opportunity to talk about my discovery.  The coffeepot conversation had turned to the "street people" in our neighborhood.

George, the system tape librarian, was chuckling about someone he'd seen in the park.   A man had been sitting on a bench under a tree, very solemnly reading a newspaper, his head covered by an old army helmet.  The helmet had been caked over with years worth of accumulated pigeon splatterings!

Candy, the young blonde programmer trainee, told how two street alcoholics had staged what appeared to be, in its own bleary way, a kind of chivalrous duel over her.  She 'd been walking down the sidewalk when one of a pair of them sang out, "Good mornin', sweetheart!"

"Don't talk to the lady that way!" said the other one, and BOP! knocked the first one flat on the grass.  

The first one wobbled back to his feet.   "Keep your nose outa this,' he said, and BOP! knocked the other one flat on the grass.  It had kept on in that way her whole way into the office.

"Has anybody seen Moses?" I asked.  The levity left the room.

Candy finally said, "I wonder about him."  She worked her tongue in the side of her mouth as she thought.  "You can tell just by looking at him that he's smarter than the others.  What happened?"

Nobody else had anything to say.