The Bad Gentleman
I know this because I’m following his every movement, and I’m not even sure why.
A silver Mercedes-Benz pulls up behind the SUV, and out of it alights a man, not younger than sixty, in a grey suit. The first thing I notice about the newcomer is that he’s fit for a man his age, he stands tall with the aura of a man who shouldn’t be trifled with. His salt and pepper hair and beard are well-groomed, an overall well put man.
“Roman,” the man speaks, his face hardened with no life in his eyes. Christian, nonetheless, doesn’t seem to care, as if he knows his anger is greater than whatever the older man must be feeling.