Spade is not much of a man to be sentimental. Which is why it would be hard to guess what he's currently thinking of. He's on the porch, leaning on the rail. The smoke from his cigarette twines up around his head, as idle as the detective creating it. His eyes are focused on a distant point, but whatever is on his mind is not what he's looking
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"Hey." It's quiet, not nonchalant, but almost.
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He's busy with his work out, for now.
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