He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Francene hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked burned in this light. The streets were uncrowded for four o'clock on a Wednesday. He watched a Volkswagon swerve to avoid a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow as it bolted by. What a degenerate, he thought. Across the street an advertising agent wearing a cat suit came out of a burger joint. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a police station to pick up an apple. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the newsstand and pay Greg 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 brilliant orange. There might be a storm brewing, he thought defiantly. He walked past an alert man carrying a striped bird bath. 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 Portugal or Kosovo, meeting glamorous and sketchy people, pulling out his handful of dirt and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the newsstand a bit late...
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