If my life were a true-crime mystery novel...
If my life were a true-crime mystery novel, I would not have been able to walk past Leavitt & Pearce in Harvard Square from the restaurant where I had dinner this evening and just spilled most of a bottle of ketchup on my light tan linen trousers, splattering them horribly, without having Patrolman Murphy notice that my pants were spattered and streaked with ketchup.
Of course, it wasn't me who shot Jimmy "The Weasel" Toonces, but I would have a good hunch that it was Bobby "Barfly" Barker who punched Jimmy's ticket with a silenced .38 in the Harvard Square greasy spoon known as the Greenhouse (I only saw the back of his head, but i'm sure I saw the doubleknit plaid trousers he favors), thus causing me to knock over the open ketchup bottle onto my leg as I made my escape, frantically trying to conceal most of the splatter with my briefcase and a rolled-up copy of the Boston Globe as I tried to walk away with an air of nonchalance.
I'd have to prove to it was only ketchup (mm! tastes good, officer!) and then spend the next hundred pages solving the crime.
Back here in reality, nobody on the sidewalk more than glanced at the big gooey red stains. And those that did glance didn't do anything more. And it appears that the ketchup stains have come out in the laundry.
Of course, it wasn't me who shot Jimmy "The Weasel" Toonces, but I would have a good hunch that it was Bobby "Barfly" Barker who punched Jimmy's ticket with a silenced .38 in the Harvard Square greasy spoon known as the Greenhouse (I only saw the back of his head, but i'm sure I saw the doubleknit plaid trousers he favors), thus causing me to knock over the open ketchup bottle onto my leg as I made my escape, frantically trying to conceal most of the splatter with my briefcase and a rolled-up copy of the Boston Globe as I tried to walk away with an air of nonchalance.
I'd have to prove to it was only ketchup (mm! tastes good, officer!) and then spend the next hundred pages solving the crime.
Back here in reality, nobody on the sidewalk more than glanced at the big gooey red stains. And those that did glance didn't do anything more. And it appears that the ketchup stains have come out in the laundry.