“Doña Viviana?” Marlen asked, though no doubt existed that the ancient woman across the threshold was anyone but. Her brown skin wrinkled and spotted with age, her thinning white hair, pulled into a bun, showed her scalp.

We get the feeling that he is an old wise man type, having worked there for the longest time (by “not getting too many raises and keeping a low profile”).

Chen ayi stumbled out of an Uber at 2 A.M. in a lurid yellow parka, her dyed hair plastered to her forehead in oily streaks, dragging a Louis Vuitton luggage set in the rain. She stood in line behind the drunk herds of freshmen so I could check her in.