Simply put, he knows about gravity merely by reputation.
If you want to find Patrick, look to the rooftops, and the fire escapes of downtown Seattle.
Patrick is also a cartoonist, with a published graphic novel called Noir coming out in late August.
Currently, Patrick is training night and day to become a great traceur, which is his ultimate goal these days.
It starts to snow outside, and I unconsciously hitch my trenchcoat snugly against my shoulders, the regal scent of leather no longer even in my senses as I remove my hat and draw a slow, measured sigh. My breath struggles against the cold as it rises hauntingly from my lips and settles into nothingness.
The creak of a door. I greet the intrusion into my little world with nothing more than an inquiring eyebrow. Footsteps. A broad, expensive by the sound of her shoes. She's walking quickly and already I can tell she's a dame in trouble.
I finally get bored with staring at the snow and cast my gaze at my visitor. I know the face, but the name comes a few seconds later. Slowly bending down to wipe a spot of mud from her perfect ankle, her green eyes meet with mine and I see the mixture of intrigue and desperation in her face. It's a face I've seen too often in my work. Love. She stands upright, and the name comes rising into my mind like a bubble from the bottom of a drain. Emmalee, she's called.
She's a fine dame by all regards. What she'd be doing with a rent-a-cop like me, I haven't a clue. She opens her mouth to speak, and the icy wind plays with her perfect golden hair. She tells me she's in trouble, that she needs to get away.
We go through the motions. Who's after ya? Where did they find you? All that jazz. I see it coming before she says it. It's always the boyfriend. He's been messin' around, she says. Wants to pump some lead to him.
I tell her it ain't worth it, she'll only get herself in deeper. Her eyes tell me a different story, she's not out for revenge, it's escape that's on her delicate mind.
"Why'd you come to me, baby?"
I watch a slender hand softly pull aside the lapel of my coat. A slight depression of weight against the holster of my nine millimeter.
"You know what I need, Jack."
I have plenty of time to grab her arm, to stop her from doing something stupid. But I don't. I nod to her and hold her hand. Tell her it's going to be okay. She pulls the cannon from my coat, her cold fingers somehow don't fumble with the safety.
I tell her I love her.
They say snow makes the world silent. The sound of the gunshot pierces my world, and her perfect body falls to the ground. Rivers of red trickle across the white until the ground is a myriad of blood and snow.
I slowly crouch down, and stroke her perfect hair. Her eyes are dark, and the love on her face is replaced by peace. I hold her close until she's gone.
It ain't easy, these days in the F Court.
--------Fly High-------
NEWS
Patrick is out of commission for a while, as of 4:15 PM, Sunday August 12 following a severe injury to his lower back.
He was performing a backflip and his rotation was too fast; he overshot the landing and impaled the small of his back on a spike coming off a fence.
He wants everyone to know that sadly no, he didn't get it on camera, but it looked cool as fuck, and he'll be back on the streets soon.
