Yes sir. Been some time since we checked in on our drunken private eye. We find him again at the far end of the bar, a dark lager in a pint glass dripping its head down the inside. He’d been speaking about an old case, an investigation into an alleged drunken mother’s behavior. He tailed her around town, she stopped at bars. Drinking and driving with the kids in the back seat? Bingo. Sole custody for dad.
“It’s what’s called a hot tail, I kept a complete chromatic change in my backpack while in pursuit on the bike. I even had a backpack in my backpack in case I was spotted. I would become a guy in a green jacket with a blue bag, not the guy in the red jacket with the black bag that was behind us five minutes ago.”
Mr. Louden was hoping for a little work in the morning, painting a fence in a back yard for someone in the neighborhood. The years spent smoking crack kept him from the financial obligations Internal Revenue expected of him, and now the majority of income diverted back to them.
“Fence painting doesn’t pay well, but such are the wages of sin, which apparently must continue to be paid long after the sinning has stopped…” he lamented from his barstool, then picked up the newspaper he’d brought with him and went back to his quiet world in the public eye.
Some asshole put on Eminem and they began dancing by the tables near the windows. Cant a local tavern have a decent tuesday night atmosphere? One without downtown overpaid merrymakers out blowing off steam like drunken college boys gone cowtipping? Perhaps this part of town is sleeping standing up, but not to provide sport for overstimulated ADHD generation scene slummers.
(here one notices the narrator’s voice has become infected with the lead characters bitter ennui. It’s similar in the way that one starts watching football when everyone around you is cheering it on.)