télos is a tumblelog.

The Suit

My friend James says this preacher walks with a long gait, and wears a suit that is the color of shadows at dusk. The lines of his suit could be described as long and formal, by which James means it is a suit of a serious nature, for serious occasions. A tailor would disagree.

The tailor around the corner from my small flat, just past the bakery with the three color striped awning, would say that the lines are a simple matter of material construction and form. One man’s suit, a man who could care less about how any suit fits, is possessed of wrinkles that ripple from his shoulders down to his feet as if his clothes were overcome by the spirit of the sea just as the wind was finding its will to be. The suit of the man who does care, however, is an expression, a belief, that what appears to the eye is more than pomp and circumstance. Whether it is the tailor’s form or James’ seriousness I do not know, but this preacher is marked by something rather odd. This preacher wears a bow tie. I told James that I cannot shake my southern training that has me thoroughly convinced that a man who wears a bow tie is never to be trusted.