He's a gent

A Nissan Micra convertible slows to a stop at the pedestrian crossing, it's gleaming silver, driven by an elderly gent. He's got thick white hair and a neat white goatee beard. While the lights are on red he takes a moment to fish a comb out of his suit jacket pocket. A quick glance around and then he's slicking back his hair, one eye on the car in front, the other on his rear view mirror, checking out his reflection. The lights change, he puts the comb back into his pocket and drives away.