Wort lived under the thumb of his twisted mother for much of his life, and when she passed away, he found himself utterly alone and with very few possessions of his own. Wort’s flat remained cluttered with his mother’s grandma-style furniture, bedding, and knick-­knacks. Still holding onto some sort of internal childhood, Wort’s thick grey hair sports a schoolboy’s haircut, his thin face holds a lifetime of bitterness, though on the odd occasion, when he is behaving childishly, there can be a mischievous yet endearing twinkle in Wort’s eye.

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