He’s got a thumb to his temple and he’s rubbing like he’s rolling out dough for the smallest pizza ever, cranial stress pizza.
Torman wanted to ask what was wrong, but the guy had this look like the answer would take a week, or Torman would be what was wrong just for asking.
The guy didn’t look dangerous, and that’s what looked dangerous about him.
He was well put together–the piping on his overcoat matched his tie, which was just the right amount of after-work loose.
But those eyes, man, and the rubbing.
Another thing: He was sitting there too long to be going to Federal. There were some offices on Federal, that would have made sense.
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