Streets

Logan had remained a beat cop out of choice; it was not street justice that his dedication attached to, but a love of maps and discovery. "Tell me about an abandoned intersection, and I am THERE," he'd told the captain (declining another promotion), and Logan had meant every word. He had also kept additional words from being spoken; the ones about how so many unseen places worked better than prison for some. Just last week, he'd detained someone who'd been on the lam for months; dude was as lacking in good works as anyone could be, but was still connected and would always get off on some minor technicality. But Logan didn't worry too much; he knew about Dock 13 and how it was there and not there on any given day; you'd know it'd shown up by how the workers shunned that spot on the overnight shift. It was sheer luck (Logan's fortune and the other guy's fate) that 13 had popped that afternoon. Anything that moved in and out of existence arrived hangry, and Logan figured it was a matter of public safety to give it a little something to tide it over.