Every morning, a young man alights from the 8.30 northbound train at Dublin’s Pearse Street Station. Like Schindler’s child in the red coat, he makes a distinct passage through the office-bound throng.
What makes this man a man apart? This man wears a hat. It’s a trilby hat of the Humphrey Bogart sort, matched to the hues of his sharply tailored three piece suits and worn in a country that doesn’t really...
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