Andrew Sean Greer
His name is Brian, the man whose clothes I’m wearing. Well at least, that’s
what we call him. I will probably never know his real name, but I know when he’s sold his clothes to the Crossroads at Church and Market streets. There they are: shirts my size, and suits my size, and jeans, and sweaters, and all of it. It happens every few months. Once, just before my 40th birthday, Brian surprised me with a gift: the perfect suit. It didn’t even need tailoring.
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