David looked over the neon haze of the clubbing district in north San Francisco. The noise and momentum of the night was tugging at his curiosity as he took one last drag from his cigarette and cast it to the sidewalk. It had been about a month since he had been in the public space. There was a certain strict protocol he needed to follow to make sure he wasn't discovered. He figured after a month of silence the Agency wouldn't be looking into his case with any major degree of scrutiny.

[i]"Just another fucking door-kicker killed on the job."[/i] David imagined they would eventually pen down. The whole process felt reminiscent of those times when he and his team would be dropped into the middle of some horrible arse-end country that usually ended with 'stan'. He couldn't help but think of that five minute window after the helicopter disappeared into the night sky and the noise it kicks up faded away. A cold and eerie silence would follow as they faced out and waited to see if they were compromised.

In this case, San Francisco was his new area of operations, and the helicopter was a shitty convertible he stole at a truck stop. That golden five minutes was equivalent to a month of studying the night life of the city from afar. This was the area that Sofia was investigating. This is where she vanished. 

David had made a note of the grand attire of wankery that most people wore when they were 'out on the town' but he could only really muster some slim dark blue jeans, brown dress shoes and belt, a light dress shirt and a blue blazer for practical purposes. This was the limit of modern twatiness he could tolerate. What he would give for some board shorts, a singlet and "flip flops" as the yanks called them.

With hands delved deep into his pocket he sampled the atmosphere of the crowds outside each of the clubs in the district before choosing one at random to get into. After a short stint in the lineup he was inside and navigating his way to the nearest bar counter to compete in the hustle and bustle for a drink.