Newt shook off his “parachute-bag” just before the piccie was taken. He was on a big tear around the house, with the crinkly-toy in tow. you can see it starting to float to the ground behind him.
You are walking down a cracked inner city sidewalk. It is morning, slowly warming into a sunny day. You look up and yonder along the cement you see someone walking toward you. You are surprised to have perceived someone so far away. But, you keep walking, expecting nothing more than a friendly nod as you pass. He gets closer. You see he has a slight limp and shuffling gait, though he seems to be moving quickly. He is closer–a torn and stained suit jacket with tattered pants and bare feet. Closer–a mottled green and purple face, and slightly yellowed skin pinched back along his cheekbones. You and he are fifty yards apart. You, and an undead mockery of what was once alive are twenty yards apart. You approach on the notably empty path, no traffic on the road to the side. You nod. He waves, a pinky finger hanging loosely from a broken knuckle, and passes.