THE MUSTACHE
Thick and full, it is a salt and pepper caterpillar that rolls and squirms underneath his nose. Hidden in the stiff hairs there are always debris of one sort or another.

THE NECKLACE
A bee sealed in an amber teardrop suspended by a 14 karat golden chain. It hangs only an inch away from his neck. He claims that he found the creature suspended against a tree in Costa Rica and had it cleaned and mounted when he returned home to the US. None of this is true.

HIS SHIRT
A vintage bowling shirt, baby blue, with a dark blue collar and two thick navy stripes going down the front. It is slightly too small for his thick frame, and there are wrinkles where his stomach pulls at every button, revealing glimpses of his undershirt. It is open to the third button, revealing a tangled tuft of wiry white hairs that stand out in stark relief to the leathery, over-tanned skin underneath. A faded appliqué above the left breast pocket reads “Chuck” which her claims is his middle name. It is not.

THE UNDERSHIRT
Originally white, now a shade of indeterminate gray. The elastic is loose, and there are yellow stains underneath each armpit. Like Carl himself, it smells better than one would imagine, although it is not pleasant.

THE BELT
Brown leather. It sags outward where his belly pushes up against it before spilling over the edge like the bread dough rising up to overflow its bowl. The large silver buckle that holds it all together has a relief of a bald eagle, its wings spread, stamped into it. The eyes once held red plastic gems, but those are long gone now, and only worn remnants of the glue that once held them there now remain. The words “Enough” are written below the bird in script so florid that Carl thinks that it says “Tough.”

THE BRACELET
Chunks of turquoise banded by low-grade silver, all held together by steel wire. He purchased it on an Indian reservation he visited a very long time ago with the intention of impressing a “lady-friend” he had met at his hotel. The only native-American hands to have ever actually touched it belonged to the man that owned the store. The lady in question had already left by the time Carl got back, after being held up for many hours by a series of horrendous events that left him with a permanent scar just behind his right ear.

THE PANTS
Stonewashed Blue-Jeans, size 42, with a 30 inch inseam. He purchased them at a church bazaar that he happened to discover on the way to Vegas when he stopped to get a little prayer in before he hit the tables.

THE UNDERWEAR
Boxers. The less said about them the better.

THE SOCKS
Black men’s dress socks. His nicest pair, they are almost entirely free of holes, and manage to stand up on their own, coming all the way up his legs to a few inches below each knee. There is a single stripe up the side of each one, made up from a pattern of white diamonds.

THE SHOES
Brown leather snakeskin boots. They are old and scuffed, worn almost all the way through in places, although Carl has done his best to take care of them. The toes were once pointy and squared off at the tips, but Carl has never quite managed to “figure them out”, even after years of wear, and they are soft and rounded where he continuously bangs against the edge of the bar.