Dead Ends

Searching. Leads that point to a void.


"Have you seen this man?" Shrug. Head shakes.

"Go talk to that guy over there."

"I just did; he gave the same answer."


You'd think my information supplier would give me specifics when sending me to find someone. I hear names that sound like what I'm looking for, but wrong last name, wrong first name.

"Well, I heard he hangs around bars a lot." I overhear.

That sounds like who I'm looking for.

"He had weirdly shaved green hair."

Never mind.


All ends were full of life when I started, but now I stare at multiple burned-out lines of gunpowder, facing giant brick walls.

Rain comes, dropping hopelessness on my hat and coat. I should go home.