He turned his collar up, wound his woolen scarf three times around his thin turkey neck, dug his mittenless hands deep into the pockets of his cashmere coat.

The coat was much too long for him; the sleeves wrinkled up his arms, the coat flaps chased him in his race along the sidewalk. To make himself go faster, he closed his eyes and skipped, occasionally knocking a leashed dog or unleashed child aside.

Despite his intensity and his well-prepared schedule, something gobbled at his mind and the seventh loop of his small intestine.