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...
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