He looked himself in the mirror, intently. Behind him, on the other side of the street, was the entrance to the bank. The mirror was not really a mirror, just a storefront window, but someone had draped something dark on the inside, and the effect was almost the same. It was an art project; behind the dark satin lay a little camera capturing people’s expressions. His expression was a volatile one without any twitching muscles, like the stillness of a lake in a volcanic caldera. He got out his stockings, rolled it over his head, and ran across the street.