Greg is sitting, very blatantly nervous, at the bar, intentionally still nursing his initial drink. His phone beeps ominously and he checks it, almost dropping mobile on the deep stained wood floor. He stands, adjusting his tie and pulling at the hem of his jacket. In a matter of seconds, he’s at the door smiling crookedly at the tall, frowning man in the foyer of the restaurant. “I’m glad you could come.”
tagged as: baker street irregulars. governmentsanctionedbrollies.
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