Michael showers and shaves, then snaps a few self-portraits in the mirror. He lifts his phone high, tilts his head and pouts. Click.
He’s a substantial man, with ruddy jowls, a small, pleasant mouth and cheerful eyes. At sixty-seven his head is a gleaming dome. Most of his male friends are doing that ridiculous neo-combover thing: a few last pathetic hairs brushed down over one eye, emo-style. He prefers total baldness—chemo-style. Click.Read More