Immiscible

"I can't write during the day," Janet always complained. "My muse is a night owl—so I am too."

The Lighthouse coffee shop on Main beckoned just blocks from Janet's apartment. Open all night, it offered an atmosphere with just the right blend of solitude and stimulation. Janet warmed herself with cinnamon mocha and let the cool, night sea-air fuel her muse.

--------------------

"I can't drink during the day," groused Carl. "My boss is picky that way."

The Fireball Bar & Grill smoldered nightly till 3am on the sunset side of 1st street. Carl's MG roadster—red like a racing heart—romanced the highway's coastal curves during the ten mile trek to the Fireball. Inside, Carl hoped that the featured mix of liquor and ladies would combine more pleasantly than the establishment's combustible namesake.

--------------------

The scene was already lit by flashing emergency lights when the sergeant pulled up to the corner of 1st and Main.

"What's the count?"

"Two dead—three if you count the roadster," replied the approaching patrolman. "Girl by the mailbox—this is her pack and laptop. Found her shoes in the crosswalk. Middle-aged male—the driver—that's him two doors down Main, under the tarp."

"The fog is bad up here at night," remarked the sergeant.

"Vodka and a V8," shrugged the patrolman. "A bad combo all around."