Change my life.
There he was, walking down the street: unshaven, carrying some extra weight, wearing an untucked shirt at least a size too big for him. His hair looked as if he had started to put some effort into making it presentable but had been called away in the middle of the process, never to return. His hands, shaking a bit from last night’s drinking, clutched a cigarette and a newspaper, which he held at chest level to read, only occasionally looking up to make sure he didn’t bump into anybody. His stride was awkward, his demeanor was distracted, his gut stuck out prominently. I wouldn’t have noticed him, except I was passing by a large glass window which, because of the brightness of the sun, offered a full reflection.God, I really am a prize, aren’t I?