Trenchcoat-clothed people network

Neon tones light the street. I wander through the city, trying to get an idea of where to start looking for... you know, the reason because my client had to hire me; the reason everyone has to hire someone like me, even the reason why everyone like me ended in this line of work. She.
Or some of their infatuating personifications. I heard a workmate of me(because we have some kind of trenchcoat-clothed people network, the only rule is not to ruin you own case in order to solve anyone else one) talking about an ancient avatar of desiringness traveling across the world, crushing every detective she, because the current incarnation is a woman, he said, just for the sake of mystery. He said that avatar was avenging each love story we have tried to solve by means of unveiling the truth behind thet way of blinking and looking at us, as they were expecting something they know we'll do just in order of fullfiling they expectation, and then they'll use those kind of actions as the rational confirmation of our misjudgement towards the situation.
And as I recall my clients' story, I realize maybe he fell by the enchantment of some kind of the avatar of desireness' subordinate, also a woman, but a younger one, and that´s implies I´m setting myself up, begging for a trap.
I wander through the city, leaving my concerns as regards the black widows' nest I getting near as I keep walking...

Getting nearer...

As far as I keep invertigating my case, I start to perceive the whole scenario: A fool, a dame to kill for, and the disturbing noise of reality's gadgets crushing each other, as they always do.
The weather makes even my coat to wind, as a dull and dirty flag; the flag of a impure and obscure country, inhabited by each and every detective the world has seen. It's flag reflects both the usual weather and the oficial cloth-piece of the nation. It´s also reflects the nation´s per capita, because it's a cheap one.

She, the one my client is looking for, in order to forget her, is indeed fond of the season of winds, so my client is almost hysterical about , according to him, the reminisence of her season in that refers to him, and hysterical clients make me sick. You can have a hangover of plenty of things besides alcohol: you can have a hangover by women, a hangover by remembering and of couse, a hangover by hysterical clients.

Sad business.

Cities always have a cruel stance: they tend to mix their natural cold aspect with their ability to make un-cold things happen inside them, as a result of the huge amount of people they gather. Paradoxical whores, my favorite ones.

I run out of ******** as I approach the grey place where I´m supposed to watch her walking, in a very stalky way. Kind of painfull, I think, because she has such a calm way of moving, perhaps non-realizing every step she walks, it´s being a windy stab in a hysterical fool she used to meet...

For a crappy day, walking and singing aloud(or alone)

I tend to hate this city: cars mess with themselves and everything look as a shinny mixture of clashing colo(u)rs. Then night arrives and our beloved and even despairingly charming city turns into a ***** street whore, and you realize there is danger in the shinningness of something, because it would be there to lure...
Does the city use it´s colo(u)rfull status as a trap, or as a merchaindaising strategy?
Streets are all but grey when you wander, even when scales of gray cover everything is not moving at the beholding time.
I have a case about a lady... Been paid to find her or to make my client forget her, I still doubt regards the true nature of the case; What would he gain if he would forget her? and even worst; what would he gain at all?. I hate to work for self-destructive foes who just want to figure something in order to feel safe.
Ill-gotten gains, I say.