A lighter flickered, illuminating his hand. Off it went again, leaving only traces of light sweeping through the blinds, he hated this place; it couldn't even stay dark at night. His dreary state was aroused by the slow clatter of a car engine outside, "four stories high' he was promised "won't hear a thing!".Peering out of the curtains he could make out a black sedan melding into the black cityscape below him. He chose to ignore it, letting his mind immerse itself in its prior hunt for a fantasy to set him to sleep. A familiar creeking of wooden boards passed by his ears; failing to arouse him from his apparent euphoric state. A knock came on the rippled glass of his wooden door. Hoping that refusing to acknowledge them would encourage the returned absence of the visitor, he ignored the call to enter. As the door slid open silently, the only indicator that the guest had intruded into his privacy was a heavy footstep of a boot.

"Well, inviting place isn't it? And I surely can't complain about the customer service, exemplary!" proclaimed the guest sarcastically whilst bashing himself for choosing such a place. He allowed the guest the privilege of having his gaze for a moment and opened an eye to peer at who had entered, "I ain't open bug, come back in the morning", whilst the guest thought he would be taken aback by such an attitude, he found that he had already adjusted to such disposition by the time he had reached the stairs, the building really did say it all. "Well mister..." the guest hadn't any idea what his conversational partner's name was and it wasn't listed on the door, a strange act for a private investigator, "How about I..." stumbling over his words he continued, "Introduce myself? Dr. Fawkner and as you may have guessed, I'm in need of a priva-"
"Mr. F-"
"Doctor"
Fawkner and himself both found their respective attitudes disgruntling, he continued "Unlike the cims of this 'ere city, i do need my sleep, surely nothing a P.I. like meself could do is that urgent? Nothing the police can take care of?"

His car breathed heavily as it roared across the enormous Golden Gate bridge. Inside he smacked himself up, not even the beautiful luminescence of the city could wake him from his cynical brooding and yet here he was, speeding halfway across town in the idle of the night for a man he had never met. But like everything else he ever did, he was doing it for the money. He replayed Fawkner's situation in his head over and over again, he gets rich, he marries and she cheats. The wind screaming through his open window wouldn't distract him from his most recent revelation becasue even the most lonesome low-lives of this damned city were more dependable  than the educated. As the light dissipated, the city melted away with it to be replaced with the darkness of isolation. He felt more at home here in the darkness, left to himself, although he knew that in a twist of irony the lonesome road would soon be replaced with a soon-to-be-divorced screaming wife. He'd been down this road to many times, both metaphorically and literally.

The Highway Star 66 motel transcended the scenery to a state of perpetual wake. It never changed, every time he visited it collected his dank memories that were only ever brought up by it's corrupting sight. This was it, the final destination for Mrs. Fawkner, and himself. His car pulled in slowly as he scanned the motel for activity. It was all too routine, the motel's hideous demeanor had once again scared away any potential customers and the only rented room was the only double-bed room, number 6.

As his car inched towards the room's from door like a car to its prey, a wave of depression hit him like his career had reached its mid-life crisis. The headlights of his car flooded the walls of the building with an unnatural light, abruptly waking everything in it's immediate vicinity, but it seemed only natural for a place like Highway Star 66. Number 6's door made a clicking noise, breaking the repetitive hum of the car engine and as the clicking distanced itself from present time, a woman emerged from the door, Mrs. Fawkner. She held her hands up over her face to shield her eyes from the light that revealed even the darkest unearthed places. As she opened her mouth he could see the electric rush of emotions in her face "Darling, is that you?" she ran over to the car's front window, not in a nervous way, but an emotion that he thought he shouldn't see in a situation like this. He didn't take his eyes off her, even when she stood staring into his car, realising what had become of her life.

He sat slumped at the bar, toying with some peanuts left after the rush of daily customers, he felt empathic having absorbed the groups depressing ethics and lack of introversion, he felt like a pig wallowing in the filth of the remaining depression. The dim lights and smokey atmosphere completed the picture as the bartender raised an eyebrow and started talking "I see you here too often y'know, you should do some work, it'll help take your mind off things", He looked at the abrtended for a few seconds and looked back down at his peanuts. "I don't think that's the way things work in this city", he stopped for a few seconds "you know how things are" he took a swig of his whiskey and tried to forget the comment, but the bartender didn't take a hint. The bartender started cleaning out some cups full of beer and burned cigarette butts "I know your case all too well, don't think that your and individual, look at the bar around you". He didn't need to look,he had seen what the chaos of depression and alcohol could do. The bartender continued un-phased by his customer's lack of input "You don;t need to tell me anything about your problems, because it won;t help you", the bartender lent onto the bar in fornt of his customer and drew his gaze "the problems are yours to deal with, but you know... some people just like the situation they're given". he stared into the bartender's eyes and replied sullenly "that's one mighty fine gaze y'got there", he swigged the last of his whiskey and stood up.

A frosty night had frozen over the wet ground as Mr. Fawkner walked over it to a rundown building at the dead end of a side street. An old wooden door met his welcome to the building and to his surprise the inside had been at least a few degrees above the outside temperature. A dimly lit elevator took Mr. Fawkner up to the first floor. Somehow the first floor had managed to be even less inviting than the entrance to the building. His feet stepped slowly making hard noises against the old wooden floorboards, as he opened the rippled glass door, a light flickered inside.