Joan Ellen's Body

This plays my beat from time squared to Columbus Circle, but gaudiest. The most violent, the lonesome-less mile in the world. Broadway's my beat with Larry Thor as detective Danny Covener. Late afternoon of March and Broadway moves in tired landers, the time of waking spectacular and slow staining of color in twisted neon tunes,

and this, ebb of sunlight performing on the shoulders of a woman who grifts season into another. The time of the late afternoon break and interval before the complementary summon you back to their paternal wizardry. Ten minutes allotted to lean your head against winter stone, lift your face to the slow coming of spring

and flick the cigarette after the passers-by. A piece of the day and it was all yours. And at headquarters the time for the recording of violences in quadruplicates. And clear the desk of odds and ends, the statements from grief, the stenographic reports on anguish and sip the cold coffee in the wax container.

busy Danny? just clearing a few things off my desk. maybe you better make room. huh? because I brought you something. I give up what, margarita? I got it downstairs in terrigation room. if you're tired of the lull, I'm filling it for you.

alright, let's go. you're gonna tell me margarita, you're gonna wait until we get there, open the door and yell, surprise, surprise. I have a question, a man in the matter of the car says. car.

don't go big on me Danny, it's got murder in it. What? The seat doesn't know we know it yet. Coming, Danny? Okay, Officer, you can get back now. Thanks. Lieutenant, I'll take over. Well, that's our boy, Danny.