It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved, and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.
“The Big Sleep”, Raymond Chandler
It was about half past one in the morning, mid July, and we were sat in the old Gemini, forming plumes of mist with every breath. The paddock had begun to sparkle silver with droplets of dew caught in the moonlight. I was wearing dad’s oversized parka, with knee length socks falling down under my hoiked-up jeans, at least three undershirts, a beanie with a faded school emblem and fingerless gloves. I was drowsy but on high alert, restless but ready and I scanned the area for movement. I was everything the boarding house supervisor ought to be . I was dealing with the ghosts from a student’s past.