Dzinski stared at the shopping carts standing in the shallow fountain. He drank from the bottle hidden and invisible in a crumpled paper bag. He’d just closed a case and made enough money to pay this months’ rent, but still felt that hole gnawing away inside.
Used to be, solving a case would sew it up some.
The park was empty, the gray autumn evening driving everyone back home to hot dinners and warm slippers and pleasant companionship. He took another swig, holding it on his tongue, so he could tell himself it was the whiskey making his eyes water.
Prompt courtesy of the Friday Fictioneers. Check out more stories here.
A Bunch of Dumb Words in a Row 
A lovely gumshoe tone in your story, and I really like the description of what the autumn evening is driving everyone home to, but I’m just not quite sure of what’s going on. (Also, it sounds very American, and if that’s what you intend, then maybe ‘autumn’ should be ‘fall’.)
Claire
I haven’t read Dzinski for a while but his life just seems to be getting worse. Some lovely lines here – the last one especially.
Dear Craig,
This story puts me in mind of the movie “Absence of Malice”. You layered this well. There’s a lot more story here than, initially, meets the eye.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Gosh, what a sad take on the prompt – and what prompted you to think of your gumshoe? Or are you experimenting with putting him into every story? I miss owl and raccoon… I can see them frolicking through the flood, racing in their trolleys!
I agree with Jen that the last line is wonderful. You make his sense of being unfulfilled very clear and poignant.
janet
I just love this man. Time to publish.
Wow…when you can’t be honest with yourself, you got problems.
Dear Craig,
I am Dzinski, if you know what I mean, and you must, since you wrote it. I love this character you’ve created and as I was reading I imagined a movie with him as the lead. (Now all you have to do is write the novel.) I know about the hole that won’t close and the money that won’t go far and the tears near at hand because of one to many nights of questioning my life. I am a writer.
So are you. Well done.
Aloha,
Doug