Detective Max Stone opened the door to his half empty apartment and kicked off his shoes; he walked over to his sofa and slumped on it. Using his left hand, he dug the remote control from the back of his sofa and switched the widescreen television on, channel after channel he switched, hoping he could get Mckayla’s face out of his head. Stone had looked like her before, felt like he imagined she did, in a cold dirty well where he could never climb out, while people walked right by and couldn’t hear the yells, and they would search once they did but they’d never look down.
The beauty of San Francisco was shut out by Stone's dark blinds, to Bryan he was just a weird wanna be emo shutting out the world, but what he didn't know was that Stone suffered from terrible headaches since a child. Headaches that made his head feel like it was going to explode, and the only way he knew how to make it hurt less or go away was to work out hard, doing push ups or hiding behind his blinds. He was one of the few who didn't wear dark shades to reinvent himself as Neo Anderson.
He wasn't just a cop, a detective, he was stone. Forever running from a past that was faster at catching up than he was at leaving it behind; he hadn't been called by his name in nearly two years, since his last relationship. He didn't have many friends, apart from colleagues, and they all referred to each other by their last names, he'd almost forgotten his name wasn't Stone, almost forgot he was not stone.
Tile info. Joe Walsh