His crisp white hair shivered with grey.
And his uniform was expertly pressed.
He could have been from a film set.
Thick but well kept.
The perfect cop.
Twenty years old he'd had less hip heft.
And had been on battery and theft.
He'd ran down alleys full of shadows and fire escapes.
He'd dodged bullets.
Jumped fences.
Now he walked marble floors maintaining order in easy calm.
Waiting for his pension.
Foxed by convention.