Childress is drinking the same whiskey pour he ordered an hour ago. He has maybe two a night, that’s it. He has a goatee even though no one has goatees anymore.
Not everyone is interested in having a big career. I can’t count how many times I’ve said that to people who are like, “but didn’t you go to Harvard?”
But that day, in the city with Muriel, their words and laughter muffled by scarves and coat collars, it had made her recall seeing a striking man on Charles Street years before—an elegant camel hair coat and trimmed moustache.