Powdered Wigs

Upon my mantel I decisively suspended a stunning depiction to deliver a sensation of wonder to all my house guests. It was a portrait of three Shetland sheepdogs wearing vivacious powdered wigs under a vast full moon whilst playing poker in a small Irish pub. In the background, seated, was a brawny woman in a chartreuse blouse sipping from a large chalice of Earl Gray tea and smoking a handmade, straight-cut Cuban cigar. In the background, far out of sight but nearby the poker table, there stood a man. Upon first glancing at this portrayal, he is rather hard to notice. He maintains a somber face, quiet and matured. The uniform that he wears is a standard suit and tie, all black, with a white dress shirt beneath. In his right hand, he transports a briefcase that when observed, contains immeasurable contents, the same contents in which the cosmos itself is comprised of.