The stranger looked like something out of the past—a preindustrialized souvenir, tall and crooked with age, face covered with three month’s scrub and skin as wrinkled and as sunburned as leftover orange peels on the summer ground. He wore a red flannel shirt, probably as old as he was, and gnarled suspenders supporting crusty denim jeans. His boots were western, worn at the heel, bent up at the toe. A billed cap featuring a fish leaping out of the water sat sideways on his head. His gray hair shot randomly from beneath it.