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By the time he hits the floor, big slow Leon is already walking away.
It's opened by an emphysema victim with an oxygen tank lashed to his hip. For a place surrounded by greasy hovels it is surprisingly clean. The towel by the spotless basin is perfectly folded. The woman is pretty, a touch of gray in her hair, kind and blue-eyed.
The man talking is big, looks like an over-stuffed kid. He's dressed in a warehouseman's uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in his lap. The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed in gray.