Patrick Hamilton, looking somewhat more proper than I'd imagined, but quite possibly very drunk (from Through a Glass Darkly). His suit's all rumpled, and he's probably just splashed water on his face and freshly slicked his hair and he thinks we can't tell.
Also, there may or may not be an event celebrating Patrick Hamilton on his birthday, March 17.
I've read 4 of his novels now, and must read them all. I've been saving up Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky for some of kind of drunken midwinter reading binge I feel coming on (though I've wet my whistle on its opening chapters already); Hangover Square arrived on my doorstep just the other week and should get me through the reading binge hangover. The obsession continues.