Who is that man sitting across the restaurant from me, in a pinstripe suit, tie, hat and goggles?
Yes, goggles.
They are pushed up on top of his hat, like he’s just gotten off a 1920s racing motorcycle, and come in to have a quick bite before resuming his cross-country journey.
They’re rather fetching, actually.
Also, his mustache is curled up at either end, waxed, I think.
What a lovely anachronism. I would like to take him home and put him in a jar for a few days, to watch him and see what he’s like in his natural state.
Oh my. He’s pulling a watch on a chain from out of his suit pocket and checking the time.
I think I’m in love.
I am going over there.
I am not usually forward.
But oh I would like to see what this is all about.
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