“This Duran, he had a sort of Macabre Enthusiasm about him, he took the body into his arms like some specimen.”
-Alphonse Saint Martin
Duran Ponders the case of The Great Caper.
Poetry. . .
Was never once Durans strong suit, and so he failed. Though he persisted, and failed, yet he persisted, and failed yet again.
Duran. . .
Stands alone in his apartment at the end of a long day of investigation. His books and furniture await him, covered in dust, but await his company, nevertheless.
Duran’s Vignettes
Our world, just as any other is not so much made up tremendous events, and grand scenes, but also little things, tens of thousands of little apparent insignificant things that make up the subtle frameworks of people’s lives.
May 2nd
Duran was aloof of the heavens as he peered over an elaborate map of Paris. It was modified as he saw fit, down to every street, business and informant in the city. The sprawling map took up the opposite wall of his apartment. Drawing pins were dotted with different colors to show a variety of significance’s
Bringing a flame to life at the end of his match he watched it dance before igniting his cigarette.
The Inspector paced his apartment, his shadow loomed through the evening while he uttered quietly to the map on the far wall.
“Prendre la tete.”