Date: Summer 6. Year 10
Time: 3: 45 PM
Wearing: Dark blue-jeans, work boots, and a plain white shirt.
There was a part of him that couldn't escape the "busy". Peace and quiet was good and all but there came a time where the quiet was tiring and the peace... unnerving. At times like these, when he still lived in Chicago, all he had to do was step outside and he'll be enveloped in noise. People, cars, animals, construction, the works. Here, on this, admittedly lovely, island there weren't many busy places. Sure there was the village but that wasn't quite the same as the big city. While quiet is a good quality for an island to have and, actually, the reason why he came here, the problem was with himself.
As one who works diligently, it was rather odd to find himself in a work lull. Back home, his co-workers often joked that he was married to his job. At work he worked and at home he worked more. Not that he's complaining, because he loves his job, and he loves the work he dose for people. To give people the comfort to sleep in their own homes, knowing that they'll be safe, or to walk through the streets without fear of someone pulling a knife on them, that's why he's a cop. Well, until events pushed him to quit his old job. As much as he tells himself that that was then, and this is now, it still hurt all the same. But he just can't see himself doing anything else, or even retiring. He still had plenty of life in him.
At his new job, thankful that he is for it, the work was different from what he was used to. There isn't much crime on such a small island, and as much as he tries to fill his time with patrols or investigating, there wasn't enough work. No endless paperwork that could keep him busy until the midnight hour or criminals to track, cases to study. Adjusting to this change of pace was going to take some time.
Avram turned his attention back to the dock workers, who were preparing for the arrival of the next incoming ferry all while getting another ready to set off. Seagulls kaw'ed and haw'ed, and Avram watched them as they hovered on the winds. It looked like one of those old magic tricks where the magician used fishing line to make objects look like they're floating. Birds were always a mystery to him. Stupid things they were, and the bigger the bird the stupider it was. Pigeons will always be the dumbest birds, though. Dumb birds who fall for the simplest, and obvious ploys. They'll eat right out of a woman's hand, eating her words right up and they won't even notice when she has them trapped.
A heavy sigh escaped him. He reached up to rub his forehead.