Mark Landis walks with a lumping, purposeful stride, a steep hump, and a sad look. His clothes hang a little loose, but like his beard, they are neat. He is skinnier than he ought to be. In his jacket pocket there is a cough-syrup bottle that he fills with alcohol to drink before he meets people. Sometimes he poses as a philanthropist, sometimes a priest. His story is less analogous to fiction than to the hidden lives of
0 subscriptions will be displayed on your profile (edit)
Skip for now
For your security, we need to re-authenticate you.
Click the link we sent to , or click here to sign in.