I knew, for a day, a man named Terry who had murdered two people in cold blood 20 years ago. He had served his sentence and was on parole. Terry had shockingly red hair that matched his sideburns and impressively cartoonish handlebar mustache. He laughed a lot and talked a bit like how I imagine a cowboy would talk. His eyes were cold.
I asked Terry what he likes to do in his free time and he was quiet for a long time, staring indiscriminately at a crack in the ceiling and unfolding his arms.