23rd Fantasy // voice
[Piano music plays in the background, along with the sound of shoes in slush. The speaker's voice is rough, gravelly, and tired, from too many smokes, too many bourbons, too many cases.]
I've been making the rounds of this City for days now, and the pieces still aren't fitting together. Never found myself in a strange place with no explanation before, not without a lead pipe, a flask or both being involved somehow. Listening to you all yak on this thing day in, day out has just given me more questions. Who's this 'Porter' dame everybody's looking to tune up? Why doesn't this joint have an actual name? Why do you use this thing as an advice column?
Looks like this is what I get for wishing for a case. I probably should have mentioned that I never work pro bono. Getting dumped into this burg with no idea and no clue and no paycheck to make up for it probably goes to show that there's somebody up there watching me, and that He's got a heckuva sense of humor. But it's hard for me to say for sure. After all, I'm no priest.
[Video turns on to reveal... what appears to be a six-year old in a trenchcoat and fedora with a cigarette in his hand and a frown on his unusually-stubbled face, standing in front of a scummy-looking bar in the snow.]
I'm a private eye.
I've been making the rounds of this City for days now, and the pieces still aren't fitting together. Never found myself in a strange place with no explanation before, not without a lead pipe, a flask or both being involved somehow. Listening to you all yak on this thing day in, day out has just given me more questions. Who's this 'Porter' dame everybody's looking to tune up? Why doesn't this joint have an actual name? Why do you use this thing as an advice column?
Looks like this is what I get for wishing for a case. I probably should have mentioned that I never work pro bono. Getting dumped into this burg with no idea and no clue and no paycheck to make up for it probably goes to show that there's somebody up there watching me, and that He's got a heckuva sense of humor. But it's hard for me to say for sure. After all, I'm no priest.
[Video turns on to reveal... what appears to be a six-year old in a trenchcoat and fedora with a cigarette in his hand and a frown on his unusually-stubbled face, standing in front of a scummy-looking bar in the snow.]
I'm a private eye.