He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Olga hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked immense in this light. The streets were uncrowded for six o'clock on a Saturday. He watched a Jeep Cherokee swerve to avoid a Ford Pinto as it flew by. What a dullard, he thought. Across the street a clarinetist wearing a toga came out of a furniture store. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a café to pick up a pen. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the bus station and pay Rock 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 brown. There might be a storm brewing, he thought curiously. He walked past an eye-catching man carrying a burned coupon. 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 Indonesia or Jordan, meeting glamorous and muddled people, pulling out his wrench 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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