He arrives at ten past the hour, other good fellows bow heads and sneak peaks at the man who's streaked jeans emit a odor of offense. Slice of meet and greet served, thick paws stained and bruised handshakes. Eyes squint smiles, lips mumble names. Salutation games. Sit, listen, hope to have the heart quicken. Swift sermon, he missed the good music. The band will drum up some more for dad and clan to worship the Maker with dirty hands.