This scene with the man on the T is still floating around the peripheries of my memory. I noticed him as soon as I got on. Dressed to the nines he was, but wait. On second glance, it was more like a thrift store hat and suit—cheap, stiff material that looks awkward no matter how well it fits.
And then there was the jewelry. It was probably a set of no more than six bracelets, but there they were, choking his hairy wrist with glittering plastic globules of purple and pink. I remembered those bracelets from my dress-up box days. Together with my sparkly tiara, they were perfect for transforming myself from everybody eight-year-old into the Princess of Quite a Lot.
OK. So I try not to judge a book by its cover. But I was eight when I wore those things. And a girl. He looked to be in his 40s. Emphasis on the he. And I admit it. The bracelets were really just symbolic, because his whole demeanor was a little unusual. Off is the word that came to mind.
