Three or four times now, while I’ve been walking in the neighborhood with my youngest daughter, I’ve seen a man wearing a long black overcoat and a fedora.
Three times now. Three different men. One of them is quite young, perhaps in his early twenties, with scraggly facial hair and glasses. Another is older, around my age. And another was a bit plump, balding. Unlike the others, he carried his hat in his hand. His face was shiny with sweat.
They do not notice me, do not give off a feeling or “vibe” of any kind. Apart from their odd (at least for the season and area) apparel, there is nothing particularly interesting about them.
They walk with purpose, always heading north.
(Strangely, this coincides with some recent reading I came across about Walter Gibson and the odd sightings at his house on Gay Street.)
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