Anyone who looks in his direction (and, really, they can't help but, because he kind of stands out) will see a rather slight, hairless man in a black suit and tie and white shirt, a black fedora on his head. He looks like a federal agent. Or one of the Men in Black, of either human or alien persuasion.
Maybe he is an alien, because there is something unnatural about him. His posture is too straight, his movements too fluid and economical, his face too expressionless.
Upon coming to, he immediately pulled a small notebook and pen from a pocket and began writing in an almost hasty right-to-left scribble. He scarcely looks at the page and yet the writing follows a neat line. He digs a pair of folding binoculars out of another pocket, opens them, and scans the area through them, turning round in a slow circle. More writing. Then he puts all of that away again when he is brought inside.
Somehow he manages to navigate the milling crowd, walking exactly into spaces where other people aren't, and completely avoiding notice until he's found and handed the files. Of course they're files. What else would they be? He calmly looks over all of the information, head tilting to one side.
Even while reading, he occasionally takes a step or two in one direction or another to avoid people walking by.
Once he finishes reading, he tucks the envelope under an arm, pockets the keys, and starts walking, searching either for information or a higher place from which to see the crowd and the goings-on.
September | OTA
Maybe he is an alien, because there is something unnatural about him. His posture is too straight, his movements too fluid and economical, his face too expressionless.
Upon coming to, he immediately pulled a small notebook and pen from a pocket and began writing in an almost hasty right-to-left scribble. He scarcely looks at the page and yet the writing follows a neat line. He digs a pair of folding binoculars out of another pocket, opens them, and scans the area through them, turning round in a slow circle. More writing. Then he puts all of that away again when he is brought inside.
Somehow he manages to navigate the milling crowd, walking exactly into spaces where other people aren't, and completely avoiding notice until he's found and handed the files. Of course they're files. What else would they be? He calmly looks over all of the information, head tilting to one side.
Even while reading, he occasionally takes a step or two in one direction or another to avoid people walking by.
Once he finishes reading, he tucks the envelope under an arm, pockets the keys, and starts walking, searching either for information or a higher place from which to see the crowd and the goings-on.