He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Hannah hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked ragged in this light. The streets were crowded for seven o'clock on a Tuesday. He watched a Porsche swerve to avoid a limousine as it proceeded by. What a sucker, he thought. Across the street a costume designer wearing a surgical mask came out of a drug store. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a supermarket to pick up a whoopee cushion. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the art gallery and pay Jim Bob 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 salmon. There might be a storm brewing, he thought openly. He walked past a roly-poly man carrying a damaged cookbook. 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 Algeria or Belize, meeting glamorous and enchanting people, pulling out his water balloon and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the art gallery a bit late...
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