He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Irma hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked damaged in this light. The streets were crowded for twelve o'clock on a Friday. He watched a Kia Soul swerve to avoid a Corvette as it sailed by. What a goon, he thought. Across the street a harpist wearing a jacket came out of a hair salon. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a pet shop to pick up a garbage can. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the brewery and pay Donnie Bob a visit. It was pretty far to walk, but too close to take a cab, especially considering the depleted state of his budget.
The sky had a tinge of violet. There might be a storm brewing, he thought roughly. He walked past a blue-eyed man carrying a handy smart phone. A bit unusual, but it probably meant nothing. As he walked, he felt other people staring at him. He glanced at the faces. If they knew he was a detective, they'd probably think he leads an exciting life, jetting to Mongolia or New Guinea, meeting glamorous and lethargic people, pulling out his accordion and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the brewery a bit late...
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