" The driver saw Reacher emerge. He hit a button to open the trunk, climbed out, and walked stiffly to the rear of the car. He’d be in his mid- to late fifties, Reacher thought, with silver hair buzzed short and the tanned, leathery skin of a guy who spent plenty of time outdoors. He wasn’t tall—maybe five-ten at most—and he was wearing pale chinos and a white shirt. The shirt was tight across his shoulders, and also around his gut. It was like he’d once been in shape but was struggling to stay that way and wasn’t ready to admit he might not make it. He looked at Reacher and sneered, making plain his displeasure at the prospect of someone so unkempt being allowed to travel in his pristine vehicle. "

― Lee Child , The Sentinel (Jack Reacher, #25)