A stout, weathered man who moves like someone used to climbing ladders and crawling under floors. His face is a map of tiny scars and grease smudges; laugh lines curl around eyes that still glint with mischief. He habitually chews the end of a short, battered pencil when thinking. He wears impossibly tidy red-and-green suspenders that seem to be more ceremonial than practical. Unexpectedly, tucked into the inside of his leather tool apron is a delicate, embroidered handkerchief edged in silver filigree that belonged to his wife. When he walks he tends to sway slightly, as if calibrating balance against invisible weight, and he often taps a rhythm on nearby surfaces as if testing materials.