He would see him the next morning on the dim stairwell. Neither would speak but, the appraising second will pass between them as Dennis goes up and Jessup down. He is stiletto thin as was his nature. He is junky thin as was his nurture. His skin, long since abused by alcohol, drugs and fights, is yet, luminously pale and feminine. His hair is jet black and untidy as befits him. He has a mustache loosely kept in an ancient Polish fashion. His pale blue eyes are intense and penetrating. They are the one feature that belongs to him. Jessup has seen them before in the pictures of saints and murderers. Buddha had those eyes at his moment of Nirvana and Manson at the moment of his arrest. Unlike those others, his are not lost in the distance. They are completely in the here and now. He is dressed in ratty jeans flannel shirt and nondescript rubber soled shoes. His mannerisms are those of a petty thief yet, his presence is that of a philosopher king. Nothing will pass in his domain save by his own dispensation. None of this registers with Jessup save those eyes. He pauses at the bottom of the staircase and looks up.