Sitting at the back of the tavern he creates a perimeter around him. On the table a goblet of wine. He leans his head back, hides the tattered clothes with the black ragged cloak. His facial features hidden behind the messy and dirty, long black hair. The tangled and unmaintained beard covers the rest.

- That man smells…

Someone says, he does not care. All he cares about is the wine he pours down his throat. No, that too is wrong. All he really cares is about not caring, not feeling, not being. Not anymore. He might have looked better with a clean shave, fine mustache and goatee, to have his jet black hair braided carefully. He might, but ever since he got here AP stopped caring. He even stopped using his name altogether, for now he is enjoying a state of arrested existence, a still life.
Out of the corner of his lazy blue eye he spots a fat guy getting way too friendly with someone of the female persuasion. He does not care, not right now. He cares about his next glass of wine instead. Fate tends to play out in pasterns, he saw it coming, he wanted to ignore it but as the fat man got violent he knew it would not end well. He rose from his chair, swaying around, how much had he drank?

- Did you see where that man went?
- No idea… the fat one never had a chance.
- I know, to bash his head like that. Still…
- What?
- He kind of deserved it don't you think?
- Well… sure, but…
- But?..
- I guess he did.

No matter where he goes, no matter how different it feels, the nature of those that have the gift of thinking is all the same. Rotten, and much like before, even if he is not bound by official duty anymore he will carry it with him. To be judge, jury and executioner to any wrong doings he sees. Maybe one will do it, maybe one will be strong enough. Even then… would it be enough to put an end to his existence? He does not know, but it's cold today, maybe it will snow. Yes, it should snow, the cold is a welcome friend.