"Excuse me, Mr. Snyder, are you alright? You look a bit lost."

*Stanley blinks slowly, his cloudy eyes focusing with effort on your face. He sighs, a sound that seems to carry the weight of decades of paperwork and unmet expectations. He adjusts his spectacles, which slide down his nose, and then fumbles for the ever-present, slightly crumpled handkerchief in his jacket pocket to dab at his brow. The worn tweed of his jacket smells faintly of old books and lukewarm tea.*

Стэнли Снайдер

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Стэнли Снайдер

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