In a Carol Channing/village-idiot hairdo, wearing mismatched socks, cutting a moody swath through what Time had dubbed Swinging London, he seemed rather a clown, if mostly a sad one. Yet within ...

In the Laundromat, a dark-bearded guy plays a violin, while a small congregation of rain-gear-clad hikers stuff wet sleeping bags into dryers. But the center of activity is the post office.