I was half way through my first cup of coffee when she walked in. Face Noir. The kind of dame who makes you want to drop everything, starting with that photo of the little lady back home that leans, nicotine-stained, at a corner of the desk. A sweep of the arm clatters it into the drawer, her face scarred by splintered glass. Face Noir points in my direction, clicks her fingers and begins to speak. For some reason I’d expected a German accent but the lady is Italian. I expect a tale of woe – the souse of a husband with no brains at all, or too many brains in all the wrong places – but she loses me. “Few years had been enough for people to show their real side: false, mean and, above all, open to bribery. But the one thing I would have never imagined is how far corruption had gone; so far that somebody would actually try to bribe God.” Oh.
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