A Study in Noir

Dear Readers,

I am so sorry for being gone so long, I won't make excuses for it. However, as an attempt for penance I will be treating you to something special.

Part I

It was early morning, early for a student that is. Anything before seven is early for a student, some would even argue that before ten was early, I would probably agree. But that's not the important part. The important part is that it was so early that the color hadn't fully joined the rest of the world. Everything had a bluish gray look. The few people who were up, stumbling through the streets, didn't look fully human. Maybe they weren't, maybe I was sleep deprived,  either way I did my best to stay out of their way.

As if it wasn't already early enough, I was early to my destination. Like a disease that slowly eats away at my sanity, it's impossible to keep from being early. Someday being this early is going to kill me. With a sudden burst of lighter emotion, the memory of the summer rushed over me. I was right to worry, less than a year ago at my last gig I was -- with all the compassion that is to be expected from such a stand up managerial patron -- reprimanded for my illness. It seems that even that chastisement wasn't enough to cure the sickness. Everyone's got one.

Eventually the bus came tilting around the corner dangerously. With the resolve of someone resigned to fate I entered the treacherous beast.

Just like the denizens of the world outside, those who currently inhabited the bus seemed devoid of most color. Eyes half closed, hoping that the day would be over before it began. It wasn't just the lack of will to exist at such an early hour that gave the lurching object a feel of hopelessness. I'm about to take a leap here and assume that everyone has been in a bowling alley at least once in their lives. Everything tries too hard to be cheery. That carpet, you know the one, tires to look like it's covered in confetti, or psychedelic bowling pins. In reality, that carpet is designed for one thing. It was constructed specifically to hold the smell of cheap beer and defeat. This bus borrowed the same carpet, but used it to cover the seats. Bright orange and yellow flecks tried to over power the dusty maroon of the rest of the interior. Perhaps it may have worked on any other day. But today, when there was no more color in the world, the brightness of the seats was obviously a scam. There is little worse than the smell of stale smoke, but that's what this great metal hulking thing smelled of.

I admit, it is a genius design.

The only other bit of color on the entire bus came from a kid. He sat at the front, so he could babble to the bus driver, probably about Pokemon, or whatever it is young kids are interested in these days. He wore a red sweater that would give a fire engine a run for it's money. The kid had the largest coffee cup that money could buy, part of me hoped that it really was coffee and not hot chocolate.  "Hey," the kid was obviously speaking to the driver who paid him no attention. On the other hand, he now had my undivided interest. He didn't speak again for a long time though, he was busy savoring the caffeinated drink in his hand.

After what seemed like an eternity of anticipation he spoke again, "What does being sorry really mean?" If I hadn't been interested in listening to him before, this certainly did it for me, what would this kid know about what being sorry meant? He answered my question for me, though, "Does it mean that you actually regret your actions?" He paused again, waiting for the driver to answer, the whole thing was much like an interrogation. "Or," the kid spoke again, a look crossing his face that for an instant made him look well beyond his twelve years, "Does it mean you just want to be forgiven? Saying you're sorry doesn't mean you really are." Satisfied with his epiphany, the kid sat back in the too bright chair with a pleased smile cemented into his young features.

The kid had a point.

It wasn't long after the short exploration into human motive that the out of date metal beast lurched to my stop.