"I.J. London, most people call me Salt, if they like me, and Salt if they don't. Only mah father calls me Issac." He felt a chill jolt run down his spine. It was like someone had dropped an ice cub down his shirt and then made all his hairs stand on end. He looked out the window. Damn snow would be coming in hard. From the feeling a big front was coming from the west with stiff wind. His preminitions about the weather weren't always exact, but he was rarely just flat out wrong. "I'm not suprised you don't know me. I sit in the back after all. Forgive me for being brash mum but I have a hard time believing you came down from the ivory tower up there." He glanced up. "Just fur fried chicken."