Mr. Tracey blots away the beads of sweat that accumulate on his brow with a polka dot hanky. He folds it into a neat square and slides it back into the breast pocket of his faded denim blazer. He looks particularly disheveled as he sips from a white ceramic mug that reads ‘HOT FOR TEACHER’ in bold black Helvetica font. It’s probably filled with Jim Beam, I decide. His thinning hair is heavy with oil and is combed careless...