The taxi that Edwin rode to make his appointment was frustratingly stuck in traffic, laving him a few minutes late. Once he arrived at the Institute, he didn't have time to marvel at the grand architecture of the building, he dashed inside clutching the slip of paper where he'd jotted down a floor room number in one hand, and in his other, a leather bound journal with which he meant to take notes.
By the time he located where he was out of breath and his ordinarily sleeked hair was out of place, falling into his face. "I apologize for my tardiness," he told the man behind the desk. "The roads were ..."
His sentence was cut off when he stopped and stared at the man, recognizing the face. Edwin was stunned, but continued, "I'm sorry, your resemblance to somebody I've seen before is uncanny."