The city was dark, cold and wet. Like an out of work private eye dumped in a garbage bin in the alleyway below his office window after being jumped by two punk kids with more blackjacks than decency. I'm just saying.
I was, as always, flat broke. So I guess I got the last laugh when the punks ran off with my empty wallet. Or, I would have got it, except that the pounding my head took had eliminated my sense of irony. And my sense of smell, oddly enough.
I climbed out of the bin, wiped the slime off my face, and emptied the bottle of scotch I kept hidden in the crack in the wall behind the bin for situations like this. Yeah, it's happened before. It's just another night in the big city for this lone wolf. Oregon Deadwood, Private Eye.
