(no subject)
He enters. A short, round man, dressed in a crumpled suit, with a garish and unmatching tie and shirt, and though the outfit is in questionable style taste, he wears it as if he has selected the ensemble from the most prestigious of fashion magazines. In one hand is a dark red hat, and in the other the cigarette he is currently smoking.
Perched on his nose are thick, wire-rimmed glasses, through which he peers at anyone who might come across him with a gaze which seems to assess not your very soul, but how much money you might have and whether or not you're going to buy him dinner, or at the very least, a ham sandwich with pickle.
"Excuse me," he says, in his politest and yet somehow, most insolent, tone, "but could somebody tell me where fate has landed me this time?"
His unconcerned demeanour suggests that this isn't the first time he's wound up somewhere he hadn't intended to be.
Typist: Dirk Gently, from Douglas Adams "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency" and "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul". He likes dealing with the impossible.
Perched on his nose are thick, wire-rimmed glasses, through which he peers at anyone who might come across him with a gaze which seems to assess not your very soul, but how much money you might have and whether or not you're going to buy him dinner, or at the very least, a ham sandwich with pickle.
"Excuse me," he says, in his politest and yet somehow, most insolent, tone, "but could somebody tell me where fate has landed me this time?"
His unconcerned demeanour suggests that this isn't the first time he's wound up somewhere he hadn't intended to be.
Typist: Dirk Gently, from Douglas Adams "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency" and "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul". He likes dealing with the impossible.