Tom Waits: Warm Beer, Cold Women

TOM WAITS rocks backwards and forwards in his chair, pulls at a cigarette, draws deep, then turns his face out of the smoke, back into the rumpled collar of his jacket. The jacket is black and shiny, and in that respect matches his trousers, although you can see they never made what you'd call a suit; the cap is battered and brown, and might have been reconditioned in sump oil, and at third glance you'd guess that Tom hadn't got round to shaving this week.