Tony placed Niccoldi as a contemporary at first, but the wrinkles around his eyes and the stray gray-white hairs near his ears suggested he was at least a decade older. He was a vain 50, a man who dyed his hair and tried too hard to fit in with a younger crowd. Tony already got the sense he wasn’t going to like him.
“Welcome,” Niccoldi said, gesturing toward a chair. That was directed at K.J. To Tony, he offered, “And this must be your photographer.”
“Do you see a camera?” Tony asked. Niccoldi stared at him awkwardly a moment before Tony said, “Tony Lang” and offered his hand.
“Ah, the new English hire,” Niccoldi replied. He shake was weak for a man his size and Tony didn’t like the way he said ‘hire,’ like he was kitchen help. I’m tenure track, pal, Tony thought, same as you.

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