Post by FELIX JAMES WALSHE on Sept 6, 2012 20:56:59 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 350; height: 422px; background-color:#fff; border-left: 0px solid #3d693d; border-right: 0px solid #3d693d;] i know the sun's still shinin’ when I close my eyes Previous to sun-soaked Miami, it had been Chicago he'd ended up 'settling' in. He’d spent the latter half of the winter there, fighting his way through snowdrifts and getting very paranoid on buses that had only just started running again. It was a good change, Walshe thought. He liked change as a whole. Sometimes it got him stuck in dead-end little backlots of towns or arse-deep in colourless building blocks… but change was part of the job, and something he’d grown to love ever since the first big change of his life caught him off-guard on a humdrum Wednesday afternoon and thrown him into the world of your everyday grubby private eye. Or not so everyday, he liked to think, but he didn’t know any other private investigators. Maybe they were all like him. God help the nation if they were. It had been a while since he’d perused a public swimming pool. He emerged onto the sun-heated tiles in a frankly disastrous pair of speedos and a blinding Hawaiian shirt that he left unbuttoned. Well, it was hot, and he was clearly cool enough to pull it off. For a moment he paused to absorb the scene in front of him. People laughing and having fun, enjoying their downtime, chatting each other up in the end-of-summer heat. With a quirky-lipped smile and a firm nod that implied a seal of approval being stamped, Walshe decided to make use of the time he’d taken off of his sneaking about (that was mostly night work anyway) and strolled confidently to the biggest bar. Gawk in awe at the pale, skinny Bristolian who clearly gave absolutely zero fucks about standing out just a titch with his total lack of Floridian style. Did he look like a tourist? Good, because that was exactly what he was. Just a harmless feller in a pair of cheap rip-off aviator sunglasses and a neon green Hawaiian asking the bartender what drink he could order that was cheap, strong and colourful. He didn’t look much like he belonged here. Hell, that wasn’t the worst of it: Walshe couldn’t even swim properly. But just then he had bigger issues on his hands—his forehead hit the bar as he was told very firmly that the Tequila Sunset he’d had his heart set on was way out of his price range. “Can’t you replace the tequila with your cheapest vodka and the blackberry brandy with… well, don’t even tell me, yeah? Go wild. This is your kingdom.” Not that the bartender’s savviness mattered; they were too savvy for him. It was looking like a no. ( words 435 ) ( tagged open! ) (notes anyone? ) |
