I’m sitting next to a very tall and fit man in a not-especially well-fitting pinstriped suit, jacket neatly folded on his lap, with a NYPD lapel pin prominently visible. There would be nothing particularly extraordinary about this man, not his closely-shaved head, nor his november-ocean-colored eyes, but his gray mustache is truly luxuriant. It takes years, and a lot of care, to grow and maintain a mustache like that. That’s when I notice his elaborate goth-like rings. He does not belong in this world, I decide.

I am now going to close my eyes and imagine what would happen next if i were at a start of a Neil Gaiman’s book.