If you googled weasel, his picture would come up first. Kind of a horsey-face, too long with eyes too far apart, several greasy strands of hair desperately trying to cover an ocean of baldness. And sweating, always sweating.
Whoever told him a pink polyester shirt with sweaty armpits was a good look must’ve had a good laugh. This would’ve been the story of his miserable life – one goddamn humiliation after another.
Yet failure never stopped him, so there’s that. He never gave up on “the big score,” as if he’d even recognize a good opportunity if it stared him in the face.
No, cheating old people with dementia out of their life savings was his idea of grift. Jesus, the world’s a cruel fucking place – always was, always will be.