He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Helga hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked stuffed in this light. The streets were uncrowded for nine o'clock on a Thursday. He watched a scooter swerve to avoid a Chevy Volt as it lumbered by. What a nut, he thought. Across the street a jailer wearing a pair of panties came out of a photography studio. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a burger joint to pick up a Hostess Ding Dong. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the photography studio and pay Ronald 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 indigo. There might be a storm brewing, he thought irritably. He walked past a fair man carrying a brightly-colored 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 Chile or Denmark, meeting glamorous and articulate people, pulling out his mace and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the photography studio a bit late...
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