#223

why had he been in the city that day? how long did he stay?

even with tightly closed eyes, he couldn't remember. those weren't the kinds of details that etched their way intp his mind.
there was a dog, he told them, with a blue and silver collar waiting patiently outside a shop, scruffy and homely, like a well-loved teddy bear. his eyebrows lifted as he tried to think about the shop, wondered aloud if it was a bakery perhaps?

the detective's hand wrapped more tightly around his pen. didn't he remember anything about the area?

there were handwritten signs on the door. each letter was slanted enough for a southpaw's pen to reach all the way around. like you, detective! you know about the Geschwind theory right? that maybe left-handedness isn't really genetic?

detective greer tried to steer him back on track.

on the fifth row of the bus there was obviously some sort of apple perfume; the smell was too candied to be the fruit. i don't think the girl was still there. no, he said, no i don't know which bus line.

did he remember anything important? anything that would be of help?

i remember a lot! he said. everything's important. did you know that non-fiction writers use more semicolons and commas than fiction writers? it's true. because everything is just as important as everything else.