It’s comforting to see life as a thing connected, this is something we all want isn’t it? Separated into things that either are or are not. It’s funny how quick we ignore the instabilities, forget the blurred lines, the smudges, the grubby bits that became like that because, well… because that’s how they became.
The day started normally enough. 577 days in the wilderness. I woke up in my rat-hole, my eyrie; showered, drank coffee, flicked through the dailies, dressed, battled with my hair, applied make-up, headed to the office. I smoked cigarettes and drank more coffee before the telephone rang. Some girls had been found burned on Maybachufer. I stepped out to see Jankowski, see what our sacred Protectorate knew about it, which was, unsurprisingly, almost nothing. Three lost souls chained to a radiator in an apartment set on fire. It was enough for me, neither one way or the other. I’d know you see, for them to interest me they’d either disappear or have some kind of excessive brutality acted upon them, that is beyond your standard auto-de-fé. I told Jankowski to look for the usual, a john, a pimp, a jealous wife… any normal human being who had for whatever reason taken it upon themselves to finish the life of these girls. And that was it, another lead to nothing, another day of waiting for the phone to ring or walking the streets.
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