The phone rings. I push back my visor, stub out my cigar, put the cap back on the bottle of gin and pick up the receiver.
Me: City desk, Krupskaya.
Caller (male, middle-aged): OK, hey, hi. I was just calling because I think I got a story for ya.
Me: Tell me about it.
Caller: OK, um, yeah. Well, I was just over driving by Superior, over by the coal pile? You know?
Caller: Well, I don't know if you've been over there lately, but that coal pile...
Caller: Well, that coal pile, I mean, it's really big.
Me: ' ' '
Caller: Yeah, I dunno if they've got something going on there or what, but, I mean. It's just really...big.
Me: I see.
Caller: It's something else. You really should get someone down there and...I dunno. I don't know what they're planning to do there. It's just a really, really big coal pile.
Caller: Yeah, I just thought you might want to check on that or something. Because it's...I've never seen anything like it.
Me: I suppose not.
Caller: It's big. You know, it would make a great photo or something, or maybe you could ask them what they're going to do with it all.
Caller: Because, it's like, they're bringing it in faster than they're using it, or, I dunno, the ships aren't coming in fast enough to get it out of here. I dunno. I mean, that pile. It's something else.
Me: I see.
Caller: Yeah, I dunno, I just saw it and figured I'd tell someone about it.
Me: OK then.
Caller: Anyway, I just thought you should know.
Me: Well, we'll see if we can check it out.
Caller: OK then! Thanks! Bye now!
I hang up and push my visor back over my eyes. Somewhere, Ben Bradlee closes his eyes for a moment in pain on my behalf.