MANDARIN ORIENTAL BREAKFAST BUFFET, 8:44 A.M., 10 MAY 2013 —
Middle-aged Asian guy walks into the high-toned breakfast lounge at the Mandarin Oriental. Ludicrously high old-fat-Elvis pompadour. Buddy Holly thick black glasses.
Very bright red shirt with tiny little yellow butterflies printed in strictly geometric columns and rows.
Darkly half-flourescent green silk paisley hoodie. (I’m sorry, I can’t do any better than that — I have never in my entire forty-six years seen a garment that resembled that one and my powers of expression are hopelessly inadequate to the task.)
Deer-hunter camouflage pants.
Brown hiking boots with vividly stylish red trim.
I can’t remember the last time my eyes have been so violently assaulted.