The cold city streets met the detective like a knife to the chest. The stench of fish, blood, and sweat was a crass reminder of the life he left outside on the sidewalk, like a dog, every night when he entered the neon diner. Sitting in that booth for 20 minutes each night was the closest thing he had to rest in the past several weeks. It was his sanctuary. He wished it could last longer, but every night, he stepped back out to meet the dog and find it uglier, mangier, and more rabid than before.
He popped his collar and wrapped his scarf tighter.
“Fishward City,” he whispered into the drizzling night. “What are you up to tonight?”