It’s the socks. They’re unmissable even in this setting, a faux pas that should be called out here and now. Bright and swimming with a medley of colors that takes squinting to identify, echoing the tie-dye t-shirts so popular decades ago. Except this exact clothing has no apparent order to its look-at-me visage; it’s all entropy and devoid of style, dominated by something approaching pink and turquoise. And oh my, is that actually burnt orange? With each passing second, my shock mounts with intensity, while the wearer of said socks, a tall and lanky man, quietly coughs and moves his fist to his mouth, before lowering his hand and falling silent again, gazing forward like everyone else in the immediate radius...