Like any job, being a crime scene photographer had its good days and days where all you wanted to do was stay held up in your apartment and pray that there was something decent on television. Thing is, for Asher, he needed to go out. He usually developed his pictures in the darkroom he set up in the small space that separated his bedroom and his bathroom. That day though, he had tripped over his last tub of developing solution, and was without a way to get his crime scene photos printed and ready to bring to the station by the time the detectives went on the late shift. The only store left in Los Angeles that still sold that kind of thing was clear on the Westside, but he was on Beverly and Vermont in an old building that once had Bing Crosby singing in the lobby. Now it held those who were living out the rest of their lives in anonymity in the harsh landscape that Hollywood casts over Los Angeles. His best bet was to brave the last bit of sunshine and head down to Western Boulevard to see if he could find a shop that could develop his pictures on the fly.
