[The night was an inviolable promise at his back, dreams lost to the sugar glaze of rising dawn, chewed up cherry pit red, well on its way to striking gold. His coffee sat black with contrast, landfill dark in a paper cup that made assurances on common man's simplicity, even if it was secretly an import of Indonesian Luwak. Declan enjoyed small pleasures, but sometimes those small pleasures were three hundred dollars a kilogram. Fly fishing, flannel, and inheritance to spare.
It was nearly six when Declan parked his
truck aat the firehouse. Alongside the bricks and facing the street, he slumped his seat back to admire a glowing dawn still on the rise. Declan suspected that he would be waiting on Clementine for awhile, and he cut the engine off after letting his driver's side window down. The breeze was subtle without the stickiness that would come closer to noon. He let the weightlessness of it coax between his empty fingers. He drank strong coffee to combat the morning grogginess that came with prescription pills. It helped, he thought, although he couldn't account for the occasional tired strain to his eyes.
As it occurred to him, Declan pulled on the edge of the rearview mirror, assessing his reflection for any signs of weakness. The caffeine helped with his color as well. The Siberian blue of his eyes looked alert rather than drained. He was
wearing faded cotton white and dark blue Dickies. Even when he wasn't on rotation at work, most of his clothing seemed to function in a similar spectrum of blues. He hadn't bothered to shave, and he ran some fingers up the underside of his chin with consideration of the prickle before giving a fresh glance out to the street. He'd give Clementine five more minutes before deciding that she'd slept in. He was still trying to decide if that called for dialing her number or just driving off altogether.]
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