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gotham_knockingBack home in Gotham, the winter winds bite that much more. He wouldn’t want to live in Florida. Too hot in summer, and never mind the hurricanes and alligators and survivors of the Bay of Pigs and Don Shula. But it was nice to be in the warm for a few days.
Today, though, Knox is ignoring that cold. He’s standing at the corner of Varick and Moore, studying a closed firehouse. As best as he can tell, no ghostbusters are setting up operations there (yet). In fact, the place looks like it’s been empty since Gotham went broke. But it is a firehouse. He really didn’t expect that.
Stantz wasn’t really a friend...isn’t really a friend. But he seemed to know things more than most he met at the Bar. So that there is a firehouse here seems...right? Valid? Or just lucky? Knox isn’t sure.
He hasn’t tried to find the Bar yet today. Too much to do. Getting home, unpacking, dropping a week of laundry at Fong’s Hand Cleaning, checking to see where his story ran (page 17, beneath the fold, three paragraphs). But he’s going to try eventually. And he’s not sure what to expect.
Maybe it will be gone. Or it won’t let him in. How would that feel? It wasn’t like he needed the place, was it? He wasn’t really even sure it was there, that it wasn’t the remnants of Smilex gas leaving a hole in his brain.
He’d miss it, though. He’d miss Bird and her mysterious ways. And Wells, a good man deal a bad hand and still fighting anyway. Shufti and Jack, of course. (He assumed that there really were some kind of trouble, Amanda would see to it that Shufti got out.) And Buffy. How could any man not miss Buffy?
But right now he wasn’t ready to try to find a door. Not in the gloom of the East End. He was just oddly content to see that there were pieces of Gotham in whatever worlds had a New York. Gotham shouldn’t be just a one world city, after all. It was too big for that.
He roamed back home, the wind biting again and again. He saw Gotham before him, alive in its usual way, on life support but still breathing. He’d missed it.
And he knew that if he’d lost the Bar, as strange as that might be, he still had the one thing he needed most. Gotham was still his.
That night, for the first time in weeks, Alexander Knox would see what was going on down at Murray’s.
Today, though, Knox is ignoring that cold. He’s standing at the corner of Varick and Moore, studying a closed firehouse. As best as he can tell, no ghostbusters are setting up operations there (yet). In fact, the place looks like it’s been empty since Gotham went broke. But it is a firehouse. He really didn’t expect that.
Stantz wasn’t really a friend...isn’t really a friend. But he seemed to know things more than most he met at the Bar. So that there is a firehouse here seems...right? Valid? Or just lucky? Knox isn’t sure.
He hasn’t tried to find the Bar yet today. Too much to do. Getting home, unpacking, dropping a week of laundry at Fong’s Hand Cleaning, checking to see where his story ran (page 17, beneath the fold, three paragraphs). But he’s going to try eventually. And he’s not sure what to expect.
Maybe it will be gone. Or it won’t let him in. How would that feel? It wasn’t like he needed the place, was it? He wasn’t really even sure it was there, that it wasn’t the remnants of Smilex gas leaving a hole in his brain.
He’d miss it, though. He’d miss Bird and her mysterious ways. And Wells, a good man deal a bad hand and still fighting anyway. Shufti and Jack, of course. (He assumed that there really were some kind of trouble, Amanda would see to it that Shufti got out.) And Buffy. How could any man not miss Buffy?
But right now he wasn’t ready to try to find a door. Not in the gloom of the East End. He was just oddly content to see that there were pieces of Gotham in whatever worlds had a New York. Gotham shouldn’t be just a one world city, after all. It was too big for that.
He roamed back home, the wind biting again and again. He saw Gotham before him, alive in its usual way, on life support but still breathing. He’d missed it.
And he knew that if he’d lost the Bar, as strange as that might be, he still had the one thing he needed most. Gotham was still his.
That night, for the first time in weeks, Alexander Knox would see what was going on down at Murray’s.
