“Holy crap Hisao, what the hell is the point of talking all fancy in front of strangers if you pull out retarded stuff like the bubble pipe? Seriously, I’m not doing it anymore.” They’ve all heard the fake pipe joke before, but heart shaped bubbles? Genius! They never expect it. You muse to yourself as you depart from the train. The train attendant merely gives you a strange look. “Have no fear my good man, this is not a tobacco pipe.” You blow into the mouthpiece, and heart shaped bubbles emerge from the end of the pipe. He gestures to one of the many “no smoking anywhere” signs that are clearly on display in your line of sight. The train attendant coughs to get your attention. “No shit,” Kenji mutters loudly under his breath as the two of you collect your baggage.
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As you place it in your mouth, you abruptly turn to him and stare into the very depths of his soul for a good five minutes. You adjust the trench coat and cap you quickly threw on, searching your pockets for your old tobacco pipe. Not having to worry about the hours required for such a commute across the county shall definitely expedite our investigation.” “It is to our benefit that we quickly become familiar with the scene of the crime. “It is most definitely imperative to our agenda that we took great haste in our travels abroad,” you respond in a very dignified, uppity manner. “Really now, was it truly necessary to take leave at such an hour? Surely it would have been more productive to get a good night’s rest and to come tomorrow morning.” “It is time, Kenji,” you motion to him as you stand and begin to stretch. You roll up a newspaper at your side and lightly smack your friend on the head, rousing him. Being the last scheduled train, the car is empty, save you, your slumbering companion, and an attendant in charge of cleaning and maintenance. Please check your luggage and depart in an orderly fashion.” You check your pocket watch it is exactly midnight. “You are now arriving at Katawa Station, final stop. An automated voice echoes through the train. The express train screeches to a halt at the station as you finish writing up your thoughts in your diary. It will take a special kind of detective to unravel the shroud of deceit that veils the supple, sultry body of the truth, and the thread count is a ridiculously high number. Murders! Mysteries! Memories! Mammaries! Manliness! More alliteration! The pen is mightier than the sword, yet the sharpest of intellects are the most dangerous weapons of all! A web spun by the differently abled entangles an entire city.