His black suit had dirt on the knees and wrinkles in the wrists. He stood at the driver’s door of a black Cadillac. His hand couldn’t quite grasp the handle as he tried to open the car. He flexed his hands, willing them to take direction. His knuckles were red and outlined by indentations from his teeth. He cracked them, an effort to both relieve his pain and maintain control. His fingers took his direction this time as he reached for the handle. He stepped into the car and shut the door. The tinted windows formed a shield against the bright green grass and brass-faced stones.