He sat alone at the bar counter at Red Ginger. The lone wolf of Red Ginger. He must have been in his early 50s. His jaw slackened slightly, his face a portrait bearing both the horror and beauty of life. A man marinated in seasons, with his beer and his thoughts.
What fascinated me about him—and it’s what drew my attention to him—was his ability to sit very still. He had no temptation to touch his phone, which was lying on its belly on the counter like a colicky baby.
