So, this is way too short and I have no idea where I'd go with it if I wrote more, but my professor really seemed to like it and I haven't uploaded anything in a while.

It's a night straight out of a Hollywood typewriter. The air's the kind of humid that makes a man's head feel heavier, or it would if any men were outside to feel it. The sidewalks are emptier than usual tonight. More lights are coming through apartment windows. More men are hollering in the strip club across the street. More people are huddled at the tables in here. There's plenty of recipes for disaster around here tonight, and plenty of potential crimes to solve tomorrow. But what does it matter? I'll be stuck here like a piece of furniture.

In twenty years, I've never been a part of the action, no matter how many times that big shot Calhoun comes in here looking for answers. He always goes straight to the blonde dame at the edge of the bar who's believed to be the other woman, or the man at the table in the corner who allegedly sold the killer a gun. Sometimes he'll even chat up a total stranger, just 'cause he looks suspicious. Never once did Calhoun think to come to me for answers. He barely even looks me in the eye if he bothers to order a drink.

For a guy who's supposed to be the best detective in town, he sure doesn't make use of his resources, and I'm the best damn unused resource this guy's got. Everyone who comes into this bar starts telling stories about how much they hate their job and hate their wife and wish they could do something about it, looking like they could solve all their problems by bumping someone off. Lots of quiet types, too, who take their glasses with shaky hands and always seem to have gears working in their heads. And I've got my eyes on every last one of 'em. I know plenty about spying on people for clues and faces only a mother could love and all that bull, and I've got plenty of stories to tell. Hell, with all I've seen, I could probably pull off the perfect crime myself. Too bad Calhoun's too busy begging for answers from these lowlifes to care.

He got it wrong once, too. He had a fella locked up for robbing a jewelry store when all he did was drive the getaway car. Calhoun said the dirt he got on the guy proved everything, but I saw the real crook trying to impress some broad with his fancy new watch. He told her he could have her covered in diamonds and emeralds and even pulled some out of his damn pocket, all right in front of me like I was too dumb to notice. I should've went down to Calhoun's office and told him right then and there, or better yet beat him to the punch and brought the thief to the jailhouse myself. But I was stupid and hoped Calhoun would start asking me questions for once. Instead that jewel thief and his broad are probably living it up somewhere while Calhoun sits back thinking he's the best damn detective in the universe.

He'll get what's coming to him, though. One of these days, he's gonna be on his knees begging me for stories. Then he'll see how good a witness I can be.