Springtime for Edgar Feiss

Spring is a fucking joke. A couple of weeks jammed unceremoniously between the behemoth of Winter and the half-hearted melody of Summer. A couple of weeks of soggy trouser cuffs and muddy overshoes. The smell of life poking its nose through the soil. And rain. Days upon days of rain.

Edgar considers that he hasn't seen the sun in eight days. He's stopped walking. The hem of his trench coat rustles. A car, engine rattling and coughing, splashes by. The old Peaverton woman greets him. Edgar doesn't reply. In fact, he only realizes that she's passed him by the time she reaches the corner. By then, it's too late to try and catch up -- the damage is done. Half of Edgar feels bad for the woman, abandoned by her husband and cats in the land of the living. The other half can't be bothered. Edgar knows that he'll be gone soon, so what does it matter?

He watches Mrs. Peaverton turn the corner and disappear. Goodbye, Mrs. Peaverton. See you soon.

He looks up and a raindrop falls in his eye. He half blinks, half rubs it out. The wind picks up again and urges him down the street. Edgar Feiss keeps walking. The rain keeps falling. The sun stays hidden. But the gun in Edgar's pocket has gotten a little heavier.