The skinny serpentine man sat in the middle of the stained chair in the middle of the drab cinder block room rubbing the perpetual five-day growth on his bony chin. The length of the short beard never seemed to change. Never grew. But by now he had become accustomed to that. As he had to so many new and strange things. He glanced around, squinting now and then as if waiting for something. He was calm. Almost serene. Not concerned. More curious than anything. The inquisitive look of a child. He wore a simple black T-shirt, worn jeans and weathered cowboy boots. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, feeling the coarse edges of the tiny birthmark sitting just beneath the surface. Wondering. After a while, he turned and looked straight ahead with his small black eyes, directly into the large mirror built into the wall, and spoke in a casual, laid-back tone.