2010-12-31 6:52 p.m. All the detectives in town gathered together on New Year's Eve, the same way they did every year. Gumshoes shuffled down the aisles as everyone took their seats in the pews, shifting around on the hard wood to find a position where their hidden black jacks, pistols and knuckle-dusters weren't digging into them from where they were hidden in their trenchcoats. As usual, this year's randomly selected meeting leader tossed his brimmed hat on a pew and ran the meeting, flipping white pages on a tripod and writing down lists like: Cases We Totally Nailed This Year as well as Cases That Destroyed Us and What We Learned From Them. * The case of the missing girl who it turns out was older than we thought and was not missing but was actually married and happy. * The case of the old man's bones * The case of the slippery nipples * The case of the guy who shot that other guy * The case of the briefcase full of briefs * The case of the missing scientist's faith in herself To close out the meeting, we were all asked to look under our seats and there were hip flasks for everyone. We all took a belt, shivered from the alcohol and from thinking about what we've done with our lives, and then we all slipped out. The night was foggy. Sirens in the distance. We headed off in different directions, down different alleys, each swearing that this was our last gathering. We were going to get out of this game. We were going to stop investigating because all we kept finding at the end of every case was the same thing: * People are jerks |
1. today is nice 3. happy yesterdays 8. thanks for hosting 4. doing other things |
(Proof that I am the only one reading.) |