<div class="floatleft">(http://oi36.tinypic.com/34gxac4.jpg)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>Character name:</strong></td><td>Harrison Cartwright</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Location:</strong> </td><td>Dining Room, 55 Beacon Street</td></tr><tr><td><strong>With:</strong> </td><td>Frank Walters, Maggie Delaney, Jonathan Hellyer, etc.</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Doing:</strong> </td><td>Dinner</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><hr/>Harrison sat at the dining table, looking around at the other faces sitting next to and opposite him. He had been fascinated by his dining companions since he arrived, none of the people sitting around the table were like anyone who knew growing up. Even working in Boston for the past few years had shown disappointingly little of the exciting city life he had heard so much about. Unfortunately most of his time was spent trying to convince the people he worked for that a small town boy such as himself could be taken seriously next to the city born lads all vying for the same reporter’s spot. And that meant making coffee, delivering notes and fetching sandwiches.<br/><br/>Ah, but things were different now. He wasn’t an assistant any longer, he was a reporter in his own right and ready to show everyone what he was made of. His reporter’s fedora was hanging up on one of the coat racks in Frank’s foyer. He had been eyeing up that particular hat since first arriving in Boston at the age of eighteen. He had seen it sitting in the shop window, and walked past the same shop every day on his way to work. The first thing he did when was promoted to reporter was buy that hat. However without the hat on it was easier to see his slicked back blonde hair, which some would argue flattered him better then the hat.<br/><br/>Harrison had been surprised to see Maggie at this gathering, he hadn’t expected to know anyone of Frank’s acquaintances, but he was very pleased to see her. She had been a charming woman to speak to, he was fascinated by her life on the stage and jumped at the chance to get to know her better. He was happy to talk to her over dinner, although found his eyes casually making their way up and down the table, taking in the other faces he saw. So many interesting people,  this would be a good place to make connections. One man caught his attention in particular, someone who Harrison had the feeling had an interesting story or two to tell. “So how do you know Frank?” he enquired casually to the man across the table from him, the man’s name being John, if Harrison remembered correctly.