Physical Instrument
Logic
Half Light
Rhetoric
Drama
Inland Empire
Reaction Speed
Perception (Smell)
Cunoesse
Composure
Conceptualization
Conversation · Trash Container
Speakers · 21
"Do-eth thou also thorough inventories?" He points to the ruined notes. "You should take stock of your notes, make sure it's all there. Official notes contain informants' names. If some of it has fallen into the hands of the RCM's adversaries, bloodletting may well ensue."
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"I don't know either..." He points to the ruined notes. "You should take stock of your notes, make sure it's all there. Official notes contain informants' names. If some have fallen into the hands of the RCM's adversaries, bloodletting may well ensue."
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"I think I didn't want to be a cop anymore. That's why I tried to flush my cop life down the toilet."
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"Lucky we found it. You should take stock of what remains, just to be sure some has not made it into the hands of the RCM's adversaries. Organized crime and the like. There might have been police secrets in your notes."
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"Boring? Try dangerous. You should do a thorough inventory of that -- be sure some has not fallen into the hands of the RCM's enemies: organized crime, or worse... Official notes sometimes contain informants' names, even undercover operatives."
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"Understood." He nods, reverting his attention to the container, still stinking in front of you.
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"Yes it is, look." He points to it. "This plastic has the RCM street grid on it. You've even got an autopsy form..." A miserable looking slip of paper sticks to the board.
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"There's a lot of it too." He nods approvingly. "And you've got an autopsy form in there -- in the back. That light pink copy paper." A miserable looking slip of paper sticks to the board.
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You don't know. It might have been by your hand, though. Feels like that. Feels like you might have stuffed it somewhere. Not in this trash though. How it got here you don't know.
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- It does? Maybe it does. It might have been thrown out by your hand. Feels like that anyway -- like stuffed it somewhere. Not in this trash though. How it got here you haven't a clue.
- You don't know. It might have been by your hand, though. Feels like that. Feels like you might have stuffed it somewhere. Not in this trash though. How it got here you don't know.
- Hey, maybe it's your paperwork, officer?
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It does? Maybe it does. It might have been thrown out by your hand. Feels like that anyway -- like stuffed it somewhere. Not in this trash though. How it got here you haven't a clue.
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The garbage stinks in front of you, overflowing with soggy cartons, dirty rags, and organic waste.
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Time for bed, Hobocop. Crawl inside...
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His gaze is focused on something nebulous in the far distance. On nothing in particular.
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You crawl out of the trash container. The lid clangs shut. The fresh air rushes into your lungs, but does not clear them of the garbage stink.
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The lieutenant greets you with a small nod, as if you'd just taken a momentary pause to tie a shoelace.
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He nods. Absent-mindedly, he reaches for a cigarette; no sooner has it left his pocket than he catches himself.
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"Good night, detective," he says, with more gentleness than you've heard from him before.
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You see: milk, an egg-rest with one broken egg in it, some pasta wrapper... Picking up the soggy packages somehow feels familiar.
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You've done this before. The movements are recorded in your elbows, the methodology in your fingers... you're used to this.
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A box falls into pieces in your hands: Batiste Soleil cereal. There are plastic pasta packages below, and Turbo noodles. Nothing of note, however.
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It's a giant rifle and it's very expensive. Not as expensive as that fat string of pearls snaking among the rotten banana peels however...
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And is that a Cordon Electrics pre amp with Elektra f2 tubes? It is! That catches quite a price, we're talking 12,000 easy. Unless you're into hi-fi yourself?
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No you won't, because none of those things are real. They're not actually in there. All you see is food waste and crisp wrappings.