The Unmade World. Steve Yarbrough

As if the man with the flashlight understands that, he turns it off, and Richard gets a look at his face.

      A pair of soft jaws that taper into a weak chin. A receding hairline, graying eyebrows, thin lips, a chipped tooth. Smallish eyes. To the left of an unremarkable nose, a large mole cleft in the middle, as if two separate growths have tried and failed to merge. It’s a face destined to be forgotten by everyone who ever sees it, except the man who’s seeing it right now.