He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Kirsten hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked colossal in this light. The streets were uncrowded for eight o'clock on an alternate blue moon. He watched a Volvo swerve to avoid a city bus as it inched by. What a drunken royster, he thought. Across the street a radio announcer wearing a pair of suspenders came out of a beauty salon. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a pizza parlor to pick up a Band-aid. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the perfumery and pay Butch 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 hot pink. There might be a storm brewing, he thought crankily. He walked past a pimply man carrying a chic water bottle. 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 Lebanon or Albania, meeting glamorous and vacuous people, pulling out his slingshot and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the perfumery a bit late...
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