“Sort of like a banker—your new look fits better with that outfit than your usual T-shirt, hunter’s vest, and worn jeans. Also, no matter how carefully I place the big piece, there will be seams visible on the back of your neck. And I don’t want you to have to think about that while you’re running around—that won’t work. But a shirt collar, Piet, that will protect you if it comes loose, hide it.”

She sat down one last time in front of him, a mustache fashioned from real human hair in her hand, the same shade as the newly dyed hair on his head. She adjusted his head slightly backwards, asked him to hold it just like that, and spread glue between his upper lip and nose and then on the back of the mustache. She pressed it down, walked her fingertips over it until she was sure it stuck.

“And the seam is as usual in the nasolabial fold. It’s less visible there, hidden by your natural fold.”

Now. It was time.

She coaxed a full-length mirror out from behind the coat rack in the corner, carried it over toward his chair, and held it in front of him.

It was time to meet himself.

“You have to promise me to keep as close an eye on it as you can. In this heat—a single wrong move and a seam might come loose. Around the eyes. Or around your mouth. That’s what I’m most worried about. I’m sending some glue with you, just dab it on as needed, works for the mustache too, which might loosen at the corner of your mouth.”

Piet Hoffmann looked at the person in the mirror.

The person stared back at him.

Him.

And yet not.

Dark hair. Dark mustache. Brown eyes. Skin sagging on his face. A person who seemed broken and old.

He put out his hand, as if in a greeting, and the mirror image did the same.

“A couple of days, Piet. Then you have to come back. If you want to be sure it won’t show. I have the casts and I’ll make a couple extra sets and have them here waiting for you. When you come back, I have a really effective removal agent, then we’ll do a re-glue. It’ll be just as quick as today.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him.

Checked every seam.

Pulled a couple of badly dyed strands of hair out of his eyebrows.

Asked him to spin around again, then nodded. He was ready.