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It got up slowly, retrieved a hat and stepped back onto the sidewalk. It was a thin, narrow-shouldered brown youth in a lilac colored suit and a carnation. It had slick black hair. It kept its mouth open and whined for a moment. People stared at him with darting side glances. He was worth looking at. He wore a shaggy borsalino hat, a rough gray sports coat with white golf company stewart title balls on it for buttons, a brown shirt, a yellow tie, pleated gray flannel slacks and alligator shoes with white explosions on the toes. From his outer breast pocket cascaded a show handkerchief of the same brilliant yellow as his tie. There were a couple of colored feathers tucked into company stewart title the band of his hat, but he didn't really need them. Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the gutter between two parked cars. It landed on its hands and knees and made a high keening noise like a hunky immigrant catching his first sight of the Statue of Liberty. He was a warm day, almost the end of March, and I stood outside the barber shop where an agency thought a relief barber named Dimitrios Aleidis might be working. It was a small matter. His wife said she was willing to spend company stewart title a little money to have him come home. I never found him, . |
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