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... aroma of imported cigars that no one here was actually smoking.

Plush couches lined the marble walls, and the hum of low jazz music made the final touches.

Scott sat there, slouched, legs crossed, one arm resting lazily over the couch while the other dangled over his lap. He had that drained look of a man who’d already had enough of the night and wanted nothing more than to go home and bury himself in bed.

"I can’t believe this..." (# ̄0 ̄)

He muttered under his br ...

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