[hr][hr][center][h1][color=ff6600]Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway[/color][/h1][img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/113a923a2f8d5f0375ecb773a749ac9a/tumblr_inline_mfhw5w6yWH1rcntul.gif[/img][hr]Location: In Front of the Sporting Goods Store[/center][hr][hr]Tuesday's thoughts were interrupted by Cynthia's inane ramblings. She took in a deep breath and let out another one, thinking back to the lecture on purposeful procrastination she had been given as a freshman in college. By her sophomore year, deep breathing wasn't her preferred technique to calm down with. But given that Marc, a bloody member of the bloody FBI, was in town...Doing drugs wasn't a risk she could afford. He may have visited her in prison, tried to get Tuesday to go sober. But that didn't mean, to her, that he wouldn't just as easily arrest her and throw her back into that hell hole. 

[color=ff6600]"The asshole was wearing a fucking protective vest,"[/color] Tuesday agreed, walking over to Tim as soon as she found herself centered. [color=ff6600]"You don't have to be Einstein, though, to realize that Lawson isn't the only person who can ID the perp."[/color]

She didn't allow herself to glance at Cynthia, hoping that her words would speak for themselves. It might have been the drugs slowly messing with her brain after years of continued use, but the way things were going, Tuesday would bet her left kidney that Cynthia knew who the killer was. Even the insane can have some rhyme and reason to their ramblings. And with how consistent the girl had been, Tuesday knew the answer was somewhere in that fucked up mind. 

[color=ff6600]"When is this going to end, Tim?"[/color] Tuesday asked rather pointedly, forcing herself to look the cop in the eye. He couldn't arrest her, she reassured herself. He didn't have jurisdiction for a crime committed in California, she concluded. [color=ff6600]"I find it fucking hard to believe that no one's seen a damn thing, with everyone being stringed up all around town."[/color]