by Sonja Nitschke
His lips are carved in an overconfident smirk that goes nicely with his felt hat. If he could open his mouth, he'd say words like "dames" and smoke a cigarette in the dark.
He's on a case, but can't follow the trail.
It'd be a cinch if he could extricate himself from his own strings.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
P:PI
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