"Yes. You might say I'm abstemious in all matters except coffee. What we won't do to render ourselves properly caffeinated, ay? " He got in line at the cash register. The flannel shirt followed him.

Ahead of him, Duncan watched a steatopygous woman with rollers wound into her orange hair dump three cans of Arizona Iced Tea and twenty creamsicles onto the counter, then ask for two packs of Parliament, boxes, please.

Half turning to the flannel shirt, Duncan said, "I've always believed that one can augur the course of a civilization through observation of its indigenous cuisine, don't you agree? " The flannel shirt said, "What? " ' Exactly." Then it was Duncan's turn to pay.

"Anything else? " said the Middle Eastern gentleman behind the counter.

"Sorry, no, " Duncan said. "My doctor won't allow me more than one medium-size kerosene a day."

"Yes, sir, " the man said and took his money. "Have a nice . . , day.

Outside he walked south, crossed Constitution and strolled up the Mall, gingerly sipping the coffeelike substance as he approached the Capitol.

Here it was Wednesday, a nosurgery day. He should have been relaxed, but a fine tremor from his hand rippled the surface of the liquid in the cup. He knew it wasn't the caffeine.

Admit it, he told himself. If you were wound any tighter you'd implode.

But why shouldn't you be? This is an important day. Even more important for a certain congressman.

He distracted himself by admiring the scenery.

He rarely got downtown anymore. Too bad. It had rained last night, and now a fine mist hazed the air and the grass coruscated in the early morning sunlight. Starlings managed to make themselves heard over the growing thunder of the stampeding herd of arriving federal workers.

He'd forgotten how beautiful the Mall could be before the tourists arrived.