“They carry themselves like they belong in the room, not like they’re waiting for somebody to let them sit down.”

He reached out his right hand before I could lean away.

Evan stuck out his index and middle fingers and tapped them twice on the green fabric of my upper right sleeve, right where the shoulder seam met the gold oak leaf.

“Cheap wool,” he said.

“I can feel that synthetic weave from right here.”

Across the walkway, a businessman in a gray suit lowered his laptop screen until the lid clicked shut.

Clara Higgins pulled her two small children closer to her side and reached down to move her heavy shoulder bag from her left shoulder to her right.