Nobody wears a tweed trilby today. Why would you? He did. He didn’t care about the rest of the world. His confident stride, a rolling gate. His mahogany derby brogues, polished to perfection, laced ...with bright pink laces. A statement that says here I am, come and get it! A sign of unconformity in an otherwise conservative (small c) appearance. Fawn pressed raincoat folded neatly over his forearm, smart black umbrella in hand, check shirt and plain tie peeking over a navy sweater, brown corduroy trousers, practical, smart, to the point. Battle dress? An old soldier maybe? Someone who made his living by perfecting the kill.
Man like that, you don’t mess with. If he wants to wear a tweed trilby so be it. Let him on his way. Safe passage where others fear to tread. They own this estate...And then as he gets closer those pink laces... They suggest something else, something we don’t see. Perhaps part of a strategy to put the watcher off their guard. While they considered the pink laces and their meaning, they miss ...the swift jab of the umbrella. And by then it’s too late…
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