Toledo, Ohio.
Breakfast time in the Klinger household was rarely peaceful. A bewildering variety of people bustled in and out, with a haste closely resembling chaos. The kitchen was a large one, but faced with such a riot of hungry and vociferous family members one could be forgiven, Max thought, for assuming the place to be a tiny dressing room in a three ring circus. Max took another bite of toast, and turned the page of his newspaper with difficulty. The difficulty in question, aged three going on four, squirmed delightedly in his lap, and waved a spoonful of oatmeal, adding to the general décor of his father's shirt in a way not entirely approved by its owner.
Soon Li was having a spirited disagreement with one of Max's numerous sisters over exactly how to flip hotcakes. Max glanced up over his newspaper and grinned as Soon Li gave Yvonne a good-natured shove into the cupboard door. He was about to turn the page again when he paused suddenly, startled by the small column in the bottom corner of the page. There was a grainy photograph of a man's face, and a headline praising some minor achievement. It was not the column that had interested Max, it was the photograph. Indistinct grey newsprint, a round, unsmiling face with heavy lidded eyes, and a head almost entirely bald. The face bore a weary, condescending glance, altogether too casually aristocratic. Beneath the picture in short, fat type the caption read 'Maj. Charles Emerson Wenchester III, M.D. The newspaper had misspelt his name.
Klinger scanned the column briefly. From what he could gather, Charles had been awarded some inconsequential prize for services to medicine. Only the small paragraph near the end told anything of Charles himself. Klinger read it with interest.
'Major Winchester is the Head of Abdominal Surgery at Boston Mercy Hospital. His favourite pastimes are reading and playing the French Horn. He lives alone.'
Charles' life, neatly summed up in black and white. Klinger's brow creased slightly, frowning at the newspaper. He took a slurp of coffee, and absently removed the oatmeal from his shirt-front with a corner of the table cloth. In the photograph, he thought, Charles looked sad.