He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Yvonne hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked petite in this light. The streets were uncrowded for eight o'clock on a Friday. He watched a Chevy Impala swerve to avoid an MG Midget as it straggled by. What a hound dog, he thought. Across the street a sheriff wearing a dog collar came out of a dry cleaner. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a bowling alley to pick up a can of shaving cream. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the bus station and pay Jughead 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 metallic red. There might be a storm brewing, he thought neatly. He walked past a short man carrying a stolen cork. 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 Korea or Vietnam, meeting glamorous and merry people, pulling out his Molotov cocktail and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the bus station a bit late...
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