Slept a lot, couldn’t sleep, got some work done.
Getting out of the Castle was the usual half-hassle of some people avoiding me because of their guilty consciences, people trying to flag me down for something because of their guilty consciences, and actually having conversations with the few people who couldn’t avoid me, or me them. It’s all part of the life. People think I’m the only one who can also see the sins that gaze back them when they look in a mirror. Some people want to run away from that; others want to poke it like a sore tooth. Mostly I just don’t say anything. They’ll let out the words eventually.
The cabs were a snarl of double-booked carriages and surly horses, so I decided to take a walk until I got somewhere a little less insane. That lasted about five minutes before a police wagon pulled up to me. One of the black-and-white models the Flatfoots used. I was tempted to ignore it, but when I saw it was Sancho at the reins I decided not to bother. He’d just turn on the siren.
“Howdy, Shamus!” Sancho sounded unpleasantly jovial, which meant he was looking forward to this conversation, which meant I wouldn’t be. “Get in.”
In sentence 3 try “back at them” instead of “back them”.