He didn’t hesitate.
He knew exactly what he was going to wear:
Black shoes, black socks,
Black slacks, black belt,
White shirt, black tie,
Black vest, back coat.
The uniform and the job
Had evolved over the years
Over the generations
But he put on the suit with the same
Gravity
And surety
As his father and grandfather
And great-grandfather as far back
As anyone knew.

He tied a single Windsor
His skeletal fingers more agile
Than you might expect.

Had his neck not been so thin
Then he might have strangled himself
When he tightened his tie.

But he was thin.
The bulky layers over his
Bony frame hid
Just how thin.

No hat though, as he went out the door.
Hats weren’t any more fashionable than the
Cowls that were on the old uniform.

He checked his reflection in the mirror one last time.
His head was bald and sun bleached.
His tie straight
His smile more like a grinning skull
Than an approachable salesman.

Thankfully he never had to worry about business:
His customers were more reliable
Than those of the tax accountant.

Which reminded him,
(and he sent himself an email as he left)
He had to file his taxes.
Maybe the tax accountant could cut him a deal

In trade of course.

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