Even Detectives Get Old

Dzinski kicked in the door.

He felt a dull throb from his toes halfway up his thigh. He panted. He tried to look stoic. He realized that had become difficult. Catching his breath, he walked in, a slight limp in his right leg. He elbowed the door closed, or as much it was going to get. The kitchen was the first opening on his right.

He walked in and opened the refrigerator, dropped a handful of ice into a tumbler and filled the rest with rye.

Dzinski drank it slowly, savoring it on his tongue and felt a little better.


2 thoughts on “Even Detectives Get Old

  1. Dear Craig,

    I am Dzinski. That’s what I’m going to be thinking as my aches get aches and I become oder. I love the way your character has kicked down the door to my psyche and set up shop there. Nuanced writing and a memorable protagonist make for a good read. Keep him in rye and maybe give him a massage once in a while, but keep Dzinski coming.



  2. Good story again. But jumbled slightly? And fourth sentence has a word missing.
    And: a limp is always in the leg. And we know this is about D. Don’t use his name in the first line. Or the last. Once is enough.
    Oh. And I am Dzinski.

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