The gentleman from the Lotteries Commission.(Short story)

He wore an air of certainty, much as you would a fine hand-made silken hat. And his smile carried with it a gentlemanly presence, his lips gently closed rather than pressed together under the manicured hairs of a whitish, faded red, somewhat pale ginger moustache.

The hairs of this masculine attachment were of the same endowment as the hairs that decorated his medium-sized scalp. They lay softly against his pinkish skin, an old-fashioned, yet dignified part on the left with the ends clipped neatly about the ears, and a centimetre or two above the collar of his white, blue pin-striped shirt, the cuffs of which he kept buttoned about his sturdy-looking wrists.

He stood up in brown polished shoes, evenly spaced within thirty centimetres of each other, to a height of, to use the old measure, just short of six feet. A pair of neatly ironed smoky-grey trousers covered his legs, held up by a slim, dark blue leather belt. In one hand, gripped by a set of strong, yet arguably sensitive fingers was the handle of a small attache case. Added to this, an identifying photo, strangely blurred, out-of-focus, hung to his midriff, suspended by a tape hung about his neck.

It'll be another five minutes. Sorry, the dark-haired Shop Assistant explained, her pretty red lips shaped by the annoyance of the disruption to her routine, the shine in her black eyes asking for patience from the people who were beginning to queue, Saturday night's Lotto prize of Twenty Million Dollars a hope in their wishing hands ...