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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  1. I think they stone people like him to death, here in this Puritan city of mine.

    Come to think of it, I think they stone people like me to death here too.

    Has he got room in his sidecar for two?

  2. And who was he? I love an anachronism, secretly being one myself…


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