The picture on the cover of my book portrays a gentleman in black, stiff collar awash in a sea of impressionistic daubs, and the stark blackness so contradictory like a stiff veil. His lips are pursed and his right hand dangles a cigarette like an afterthought. The portrait is like an afterthought. A semblance of an afterthought, relegating the subject further into the background: he looks a part of the hazy yellows and greens behind him, but for his black attire.

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