One thing you can say for sure about Precinct 47 is the coffee sure sucks. I don’t even know what that color is called! I’ve been here since four in the morning and the coffee woke up way before me as far as I can tell. In this terrible lighting, too. Somebody change a fucking light bulb why don’t you? I guess you can say I’ve been spoiled, coming up here all the way from Los Arboles, where the air is always sweet and the biscuits ain’t stale. But you go where the corpses lead you, and right now this cadaver’s got me stuck right here in this angry, dirty butt hole of a town. I saw Captain Gangrene just a few minutes ago. That’s what I call her anyway on account of her being two elbows short of a lean. She’s giving me a hard time about jurisdiction and protocol and all the kind of shit I left the city for in the first place. You want this case? I ask her and of course she says look at the board, you think I got nothing better to do than hold your country-ass hand? As far as suspects go, I’ve got two, and one of them is staring at a cup of that crappy coffee right now. I’m letting her sit there and sweat. The other one’s only six years old.