He went to the office and picked it up, along with the driver’s licence and the birth certificate he’d mailed in, and then headed to the train station and bought a ticket. The formality of the photography studio and the blast of the flashbulb had rendered an unfamiliar look in his passport photo. It was an odd angle. Something, perhaps the false name, made Slaney feel like he was not himself. The large white umbrella in the studio had been set up to bounce light and there was the need to be unsmiling. There was a look of bafflement. Bafflement is a precursor to wisdom, was what the picture made him think. The picture looked like someone who would have to wise up. They were embarking on the next adventure. They were going to be rich. Look out, world. The guy in the photograph was him and was not him. The picture said, Look out. Or it said: Bon voyage. Slaney was leafing through a newspaper in the Montreal train station and he came across the obituaries.
