In the more bountiful years, Mr. Nalwali had sold nearly his entire crop to Mr. John Price. Mr. Price was aptly named. He was the Vice-President for P...rchasing of a major American food manufacturer based in Chicago. He was tasked with obtaining the raw materials from which his company made their food products. His position required him to travel all over the globe representing his company to the farmers in their fields. Mr. Price was in his mid forties and had been with his employer ever since. Stillman. It's finally good to meet you,” “Good to meet you as well. I’m glad you could make it sir.” He has a deep raspy voice but smile wrinkles around his eyes. “Well, sir I think I got a good price. Now it’s a little lower than expected but I think it’s very much worth it sir,” “And what is the price?” he asked as he sparked up a cigar. “850,000, sir.” For a moment there was a pause. See, Mr. Stillman built this home when the land was cheap and still had value up in the five and six million. Meanwhile, they went into full-war mode.We continued traveling more or less in an easterly direction. We were looking for more of the aliens to try to establish where their base of operations might be, but we were not having much luck. We began to think that we had simply run into a scouting party or something similar. If so, we could be wandering around for weeks without finding what we were looking for. What we really needed was some sort of aerial surveillance.Since it was my idea, I was the. I run after it, my heels clattering on the pavement, making me think briefly about the clattering of hooves on the cobbled streets of times long gone. Long gone, like my last bus is gone. I reach the bus stop and stare after the bus. “Another one will be along soon enough,” a deep voice says and I look round and see a tall, slim man, slightly older than me, with short, greying stubble. He is wearing an old fashioned flat cap, a long, camel hair overcoat and what appear to be tight leather.
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