"How the hell'd you do it?" a plainclothes asked me.
"Intuition", I heard myself say, coupled with a smile and the ignition of a cigarette.
What I didn't say is that to recognize something means to have seen it before.
The scene now having been fully cased, the body bag boys came in and disposed of the detritus, the cleaners carried out their chore next. The show was over, the stage now being cleared for the next run.
I followed my routine to the letter after solving a scene. Change at the gym. Rigorous workout. Dispose of clothes at the drycleaners. Pick up ready-made meal at Whole Foods; if it was too late in the evening, fast food would do. Drive 45 minutes listening to one of eighteen albums I rotated between. Park in front of house, walk in, quick rinse in the shower, nightcap, bed.
One never knows where the mind can wander when left to its own devices. And proximity breeds familiarity to a degree that I didn't care for.
The morning news flashed fragments of reality that struck me more of a dream than of a memory, with the weight of reality soon bursting through the ceiling of my idle thoughts.
I woke up so unfulfilled those days.
Woah good fucking line
It allowed me to notice also what makes a good intro in this genre. Two things are needed. Some level of mystery (the case is not fully revealed and is left in the dark even) and some routine. The routine of
Good stuff!