His tie is askew. His third-day shirt has ring-around-the-collar. His thick, wavy clump of dark hair overhangs eyes screwed tight in a lopsided squint, a brow that is permanently furrowed and a leathery puss smudged with unshavable stubble. With stocky shoulders hunched forward at a 45° angle, he looks like an ambulatory cypress stump in baggy brown pants. And the raincoat. The raincoat is an oversized, unhung affair in the last stages of decomposition, scarred and seasoned with the grease of a thousand fingers, its hems frayed and stringy, its pockets attached...
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