Suburbia’s Worst Detective

The pipe he had just lit filled the room with smoke – smoke that smelled like an obnoxious mixture of old noodles and wasabi. Grand halls could not contain this smoke and indeed were not exactly fitting for suburbia’s worst detective. It was cold, despite the smoke. The pipe only warmed his nose and the middle notch of his forehead. Everything below his neck shivered despite a hand-me-down tweed coat and his brother-in-law’s work boots. He looked like an overgrown orphan but the mayor would have to accept the drab. No other detective would take the case. Marshall had heard some of the others’ responses while waiting in line, holding the manilla folder addressed with his name, a room number and an appointment time. Money, however, was a concern. With options narrowing down to zero, the mayor was willing to pay Marshall’s rent for a year. 


~ by kristinvermilya on January 7, 2013.

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