Detective Story

Feeling... pensive?

I think I'll be cocooning for a bit, doing a lot of reading and writing.

From last night:

Daniel opened his eyes.
"Hello?"
There was no answer.

Groaning, Daniel lifted his head and surveyed the bed. First problem -– the bed was a desk. Second problem -– the bottle next to his outstretched hand was empty. He dragged his arm out of the whiskey pooled near the edge of his desk, and managed to prop himself up.

It was dark, so he'd at least managed to pull the blinds before passing out. His ashtray, normally piled high with whatever brand cigarette he was smoking that week, had been emptied. Looking across the office, he could make out a disturbing sense of order among the piles of Manila folders and binders which normally littered the floor of the office.

The next great American novel, starring a psychic detective who drinks to block out the voices.