He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Cynthia hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked brightly-colored in this light. The streets were crowded for two o'clock on a Saturday. He watched a Crown Victoria swerve to avoid a Tesla Model S as it hobbled by. What a hipster, he thought. Across the street a restaurant inspector wearing a business suit came out of a supermarket. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a travel agency to pick up a stuffed owl. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the police station and pay Nestor 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 red. There might be a storm brewing, he thought valiantly. He walked past a bedraggled man carrying a clean whistle. 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 Mozambique or Cambodia, meeting glamorous and tactful people, pulling out his bad breath and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the police station a bit late...
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