Sometimes after looking at a UI for the 100th time and testing a text field at 1:30am, I get a little loopy. Tonight, instead of my usual semi-humorous blather that I type into the text field, this little bit of detective novel schlock came out. I typed the first line with my mind blank (usually at that point I type something inane like “mookiepoo” and copy and paste it over and over) and the rest just flowed out. It kinda makes me smile, so I figured I’d share.
“That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, jack.” And with that, the man was gone. The soft, wet slap of his footsteps on the rain soaked pavement faded away, and I was left holding her bloody corpse. Not your average Tuesday. By the time the police were through with me, I felt like a rag doll. They’d put me through the ringer, but my story was rock solid. Hell, I was the one who’d called them to the scene. I walked out of the precinct and was smacked in the face by a bright noon sun and the stink of San Francisco in summer. I hadn’t slept in 30 hours or so, so I figured it was time for some grub. “‘Nother rough night at the Station, huh Mac?” Maggie greeted me. She seemed to be saying that a lot lately. Her diner was tiny and the food was barely edible, but it’s hard to screw up potatoes and eggs. “Well, you know me, Maggie. I’ll have the usual” “I need two scrambled, all the way” “And Maggie, have ‘em go easy on the egg-shells this time, I’m trying to cut down” “Ha ha. You’re a regular riot, pal” Like I said, they’re hard to screw up, but not impossible.
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