This, is the end of the storm...

My desk was messed up and covered my pieces of evidence, newspaper's pages and those pictures I could save from the fire. There was a gusty feeling in the room, so I shut down the window; ite ceased but get hot instantly. The fan refused to work, the window start to loo as appealing as the whores crossing the street and a sense of hybris made me keep it as it is.
As the morning was expending itself by means of paperwork and swearing myself, I had grown tired of the room, as every morning wasted there. I saved my work, collected my notes and put the files back in the shelf. When I was getting done there, the phone rang twice.
The first call was a invitation from the building management to assist at the weekly management information meeting. I don´t remember exactly my words, if any.
The second one was the important one: a woman asked me to stay in the ofice. She said she knew about my usual morning absence and asked me to wait for her. Then she hung out.
I took my Glock, loaded it with ammo and put it down my desk. And waited there for a woman I didn´t recognice by the way she requested me staying...

The wolf, the ram, the hart and the crow.

As the crow started to fly, both the ram and the hart quickly moved from the covered spot in which it can not see them. The wolf had been there enough time to realize something were awfully wrong.
As the crow realized this year's crop was kind of appealing, it decended wowards it. Both the ram and the hart stayed closer, as if they were looking to spend their time getting little pieces of amusement. Indeed they were. The wolf was kind of absent, checking the perimeter.
As the crow opened its wings and started to scrach itself, feeling something was getting closer, the wolf blured into the non-opened space. The ram started to walk as near as it could, and it standed between the crow and the wolf, and at the same time, between the crow and the hart.
At one side, there was a bloodthirsty animal, hidden and sneaking a way.
On the field, there was a flying bad omen who likes to stay quiet, watch and witness forecoming doom.
And behind it, there was a creature of peace who fights as dirty as it can while no one can see it.
And the ram just stayed there, in the middle of a triangle of quiet contemplation.

And the wolf started getting nearer, and the ram didnt move because it would have meant to return to hart' side or enter into the crow's ill-fated area.
And the hart started getting nearer , and the ram didnt move because it would have meant to enter the crow's ill-fated area or risk itself showing how much blood it indeed has into its veins.
And the crow started getting nearer, and the ram didnt move because it would have meant to return to hart' side or risk itself showing how much blood it indeed has into its veins.

But the hart didnot get close enough.
But the wolf wasnt hungry enough.

And the crow?
What did the crow do?

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.

For a rainy day, a team with trenchcoats

A case to solve all cases.
The red queen.
The train.
Marlowe.
Alice.

There is a difference between a test and a trap.
There is a difference between a test and a choice.