Kowalski tugged on his hood, adjusting its eyeholes while peering in the rear view mirror. The tip drooped sadly, and the fabric smelled vaguely of Taco Bell. He still hadn’t done laundry, and Laura wasn’t around anymore to iron it. She’d always starch it just enough to stand up straight. Not that he could exactly take it to the dry cleaner. Though honestly, the Korean guy behind the counter probably wouldn’t even blink. He’d just accept it solemnly, hand over the claim ticket with both hands, and bow slightly. Kowalski sighed and forced himself out of the pickup. He wasn’t…