The only thing better than complaining about the bitter cold of winter was complaining about the endless heat of summer.
If love isn’t connection, then what is it?”
“Never let it be said that the apocalypse wasn’t beautiful.”
“Alright son, let’s do this one more time, from the top. Where were you from 2 am last Wednesday morning?”
The words scrawled across the walls read,
‘Only two ways to enter.’
“Buckle in son, I have a lot to say, none of its nice and some of it probably doesn’t make sense.”
“What good is a detective who can’t even solve a simple Sudoku?”
This was tropical, the kind of heat that filled a room and hung on your shoulders like a hot wet blanket. The kind of heat that feels like drowning if you breathed too deeply. The kind of heat that Jones P.I. hated most.
On Mondays, everyone’s tired from the weekend, on Friday they’re fed up from work. Wednesday is hump day and Thursday is mini-Friday so I guess the only work people do, or at least the only good work people do is, on Tuesday.
“Thank you so much for coming, I’m sorry I had to keep you waiting, but no matter what is going on in a school there is always something else happening. Please take a seat.”