<div class="floatleft">(http://i65.tinypic.com/2cxj6e0.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Ari Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Brothers Warcaof<br/> – Entrepeneur - </span></strong><br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾</div></div></div><br/>Peter explained as well as he could.  I gather it’s to be somewhat of a public flogging—self-imposed as it were.<br/><br/>Entering, I see Peter, Jaclyn and another—obviously with the authorities.<br/><br/>I approach.  “Good-day everyone.”  I take a seat and nod in the direction of the one I do not know.  “I am Aristotle.  Aristotle Warcaof.”<br/><br/>I settle in my seat, after catching the eye of the server, point to Jaclyn’s drink and nod.  “Well . . . ”<br/>