"What year were you born, Mister Naylor?" Should he tell him, Call me Nick?
"Nineteen fifty-two, sir."
The Captain smiled and shook his head. "Nineteen fifty-two! Good Lord. Nineteen fifty-two." He took another sip of his julep, crunched down on a chunk of ice, bared his teeth, which were white. "I was in Korea shooting Chinese in nineteen-fifty-two."
"Really," Nick said, unable to think what else to say.
"Today, the Chinese are my best customers. There's the twentieth century for you."
"Seventy percent of adult Chinese males smoke," Nick observed.
"That is correct," the Captain said. "Next time we won't have to shoot so many of them, will we?"
(from Thank You For Smoking by Christopher Buckley)
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