Libitelli.
Fasid City, Bruno Avenue Subway Station.
The man appeared somewhat disheveled, with black hair matted together and dust on his face, the large nose under his sunglasses slightly red, beard seeming long overdue for a trim.
It was nearing summer, the climate was pleasant, but he was wrapped in a thick black overcoat, standing at the entrance of the subway passageway looking down, his expression solemn as if he were making a final decision.
Across the street, two marshals passed by, he glanced at them and under his breath muttered, "Damn it," then walked down the stairs.
Inside the subway tunnel, it was crowded and abnormally stuffy; even the central air conditioning seemed ineffective. The man squeezed through the crowd toward the ticket inspection, but when he approached the metal detector's archway, he stepped aside and stood by.
He looked at his watch, 10:22 a.m.
