A man downstairs, a driver of trucks, thick body with a pinhead covered
with a haphazard fuzz of buzzed hair, a scarred, lined man, a few key
scars perhaps, the face of a Kosovan refugee, the body of a wrestler. The
blond with the silky hair and the smoke-gravelly voice and the big,
sumptuous ass goes clocking out on her clocky heels, and Hans does a
double-take. She zooms in and centers in his blue collar field of view.
Fritz is sanctified, ennobled, though his body continues to perform acts
of work and carries his head past the edge of the truck and into the cab,
while Blondie continues to unreel in his mind, orange, yellow and green.