David Sylvian Vs. The Pop Goliath

THE MAN WHO STROLLED INTO the lobby was small and neat, grey-suited with white shoes. His hair was a natural darkish brown a small silver crucifix dangled in the bloodred folds of his shirt. Owlish, tinted spectacles lent him a learned air while also obscuring most of his face. What remained visible was pale and clear. He smiled and said hello.