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This is from a confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head, the green ear flaps full of large ears and uncut hair and the fine bristles that grew in the ears themselves stuck out on either side, like turn signals indicating two directions at once. Full cursed lips protruded beneath the bushy black mustache and at their corners sank into little folds filled with disapproval and potato chip crumbs in the shadow under the green visor of the cap. Ignatius J. Riley's supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down upon the other people waiting under the clock at the DH Holmes Department store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress. Several of the outfits Ignatius noticed were new enough and expensive enough to be properly considered offenses against taste and decency. Possession of anything new or expensive only reflected a person's lack of theology and geometry. It could even cast doubts upon one's soul. Ignatius himself was dressed comfortably and sensibly, the hunting cap prevented head colds. The voluminous tweed trousers were durable and permitted unusually free locomotion. Their pleats and nooks contained pockets of warm stale air that soothed Ignatius. The plaid flannel shirt made a jacket unnecessary. While the muffler guarded exposed Riley's skin between ear flap and collar, the outfit was acceptable by any theological and geometrical standards. However, abstruse and suggested a rich inner life shifting from one hip to the other in his lumbering elephantine fashion. Ignatius sent waves of flesh rippling beneath the tweed and flannel waves that broke upon buttons and seams thus rearranged. He contemplated the long while that he had been waiting for his mother. Principally, he considered the discomfort. He was beginning to feel. It seemed as if his whole being was ready to burst from his swollen swayed desert boots. And as if to verify this, Ignatius turned his singular eyes toward his feet, the feet did indeed look swollen. He was prepared to offer the sight of those bulging boots to his mother as evidence of her thoughtlessness looking up, he saw the sun beginning to descend over the Mississippi at the foot of Canal Street. The home's clock set almost five already. He was polishing a few carefully worded accusations designed to reduce his mother to repentance or at least confusion. He often had to keep her in her place.