THE man says he’s 71.
Dressed in Italian leather shoes in the most luscious shade of chocolate; garbed in socks, pants and a dress shirt of the most dapper shade of burgundy; and sporting hair slicked and blackened with care, he is an epitome of genteel flair. But the same years that have polished the man have weathered him as well. He mumbles and he slouches. Hands graced by sculpted nails are pallid and cheeks colored by stage blush are sullen.
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