If Evan Whitton was writing his own obituary, he would start with a witty anecdote about his jowly appearance and social awkwardness, then comment on his penchant for formal attire, long-term habit of smoking roll-your-own cigarettes, penetrating, slightly bloodshot eyes; and, of course, his great love for journalism.

After a few paragraphs of description, telling facts, and the odd joke, a fine portrait of the man would emerge. It would result from employing a similar narrative device to the ones pioneered by the great English novelists of the 18th century like Tobias Smollett, Laurence Sterne and Henry Fielding, although it would be more economical in delivery.