" The farm is saved, hurrah!” Jade said without enthusiasm. She looked me over, pursing her lips at my sallow complexion and gimpy leg. Her expression made me thankful I wasn’t an injured horse. They scowled at my shaggy hair and thickening beard; nor were they pleased by my leather jacket, slacks, and scuffed Doc Martens. Tinhorn, city slicker, ne’er-do-well, is what my Big & Tall duds said about me. How much did they know of my background? No telling what lies Mr. Apollo had fed them, no telling what manner of bargain he’d struck. "

― Laird Barron , Blood Standard (Isaiah Coleridge, #1)