The man on the street turns back and stops, looking puzzled. Fingal notices, and hesitates too.
“Did you used to wear glasses?” asks the man.
“I’m sorry?” says Fingal. “Do I…?”
The man turns away. Fingal shakes his head and almost runs into a pudgy woman in sweatpants.
“You haven’t aged a day,” she chuckles.
“Yes I have,” he says, “ma’am.”
“Why did you shave your head?” asks a homeless man. “Where is your silver crown?”
“I’m not who you think I am!” shouts Fingal.
“You will be,” murmurs someone in the gathering crowd, and wipes scented oil on his forehead.