31
I was coming along the square and the sun appeared. It almost felt warm. I sat near the fountain and tried to figure out the mess of data I had. Without doubt, I was suffering from information overload. Attempting to list my priorities, I had:
The drug dealer
His dead sister
Synge
Another dead student
Another book?
An abortive rape
Jeff’s friend
The drinking school was in full roar near what used to be the public toilets. After the paedophile scandal, the toilets had been demolished and replaced by metal booths that were pay-to-enter. A wino detached himself from the group, approached. He had startling red hair, two teeth and a heavy black coat. A French kerchief was knotted around his neck. It lent him a raffish air. He gave me an ingratiating smile, his body language assuming
