Washup

Every day is the same yet somehow different but always raining, I guess it washes away the city's filth from the previous night. Stumbling yet somehow coherently awake, I find myself at the phone booth again waiting for a call. He's paying me 500 bucks to find some wack job foreman, fuck it. I reek of whiskey and shame but the city needs me... well at least that's what I keep telling myself. Who's going to chase the cheaters and murderers? I guess me.