He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Martina hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked torn in this light. The streets were crowded for eight o'clock on a Sunday. He watched an Alfa Romeo swerve to avoid a UPS truck as it skittered by. What a cream puff, he thought. Across the street a philatelist wearing a towel came out of a bar. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a haberdashery to pick up a stick. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the used car lot and pay John 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 terra cotta. There might be a storm brewing, he thought automatically. He walked past a tiny man carrying a wet broom. 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 Zambia or Haiti, meeting glamorous and sinister people, pulling out his AK-47 and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the used car lot a bit late...
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