Greg stared down at the man, eyes wide. Shamus was a strange looking individual. He couldn't have been much taller than five feet with a narrow goatee jutting down from his chin and a pencil mustache on his upper lip. There was no hair on the top of his head. Instead, it had all retreated to the sides and shot straight out like white spikes. A round belly protruded from under his hideously colored shirt. Greg estimated that the shirt represented at least two dozen colors in various geometric shapes. The stench of alcohol made his eyes water.
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