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paid me any money either. It 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 big man but not more than six feet five inches tall and not wider than a beer truck. He was looking up at the jutting neon sign of a second floor dine and dice emporium called Florian's. A man was looking up at the sign too. He was looking up at the dusty windows with a sort of prefects amateur wankers ecstatic fixity of expression, like a cornered rat. It got up slowly, retrieved a hat and stepped back onto the sidewalk. It was a thin, narrow-shouldered . |
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