His boots as black as the coal he gave to the naughty children.
His red suit, worn to a light red from too many washings.
His belly shook more like the left over gravy that sat cold on the table too long.
The white of his beard was not so much like the fallen snow, but more like the off eggshell white of new house walls.
Yet he was still Santa after all, even if he dragged his bag full of toys verses slung it over his back.