He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Fifi hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked soft in this light. The streets were crowded for seven o'clock on a Sunday. He watched a Chevy Camaro swerve to avoid a Mercury Cougar as it staggered by. What a baby, he thought. Across the street a mechanic wearing a Superman costume came out of a bike shop. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at an insurance agency to pick up a bottle of painkillers. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the dry cleaner and pay Justin 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 salmon. There might be a storm brewing, he thought irritably. He walked past a roly-poly man carrying a grubby toilet seat. 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 England or El Salvador, meeting glamorous and dark people, pulling out his torpedo and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the dry cleaner a bit late...
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