THE DETECTIVE

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In a world where resemblance is often deceptive and convention selective, he sees life differently. He confuses symbols and icons, shadows and smiles, too.

What’s good for fiction is rarely good for reality.

He sits alone in his office—detectives never have homes—where he thinks when he should be feeling and feels when he should thinking. He makes stuff up when he should be taking it in, so it’s no wonder that the few cases he gets he never solves.

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