He's spent five minutes gazing into the heart of the mirror, looking for the slightest blemish in his reflection. It doesn't matter that the men's bathroom is rarely cleaned and would send shivers down the spine of any hygeine freak. Nor does the rancid smell of other people's waste detract from his vanity.
He needs to be sure that his image is as good as it can be. That he is as prepared for what awaits him outside as he has been for everything else in his life. Presentation means everything, which seems ironic in such dismal conditions.
Straightening his blood red shirt to remove any minor creases, the man takes a deep breath, flicks a comb through his gelled black hair one final time and turns on his heel to leave the room.
Under his breath, he keeps telling himself to remain calm as he pushes the squeaky wooden door open, and enters the main building.