Incognito
August, 1959
Scanlon woke up thinking about his mirror. He kicked the coffee-stained blanket off the cot and stood up, wobbling on his thin legs. He staggered, sleep-drugged, toward the cloudy cracked glass that hung crookedly over the rust-spotted sink. It was dark, so he pulled the beaded chain that dangled from the bare light bulb, and squinted at his reflection.It wasn't impressive. In his underwear, Scanlon looked like a gawky adolescent with hairy arms and legs. Seeing him this way, nobody would ever b...
