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But now with the body, there was also Finsterstein and a long shadow in the room as the sunless December day ended early. A long night lay ahead, cold like the corpse and winter to come. No stocking for the stiff, he thought. If he wanted a cozy chat there was Santa at Macy’s. The broken glass on the floor from his window on tomorrow reflected shards of streetlight. He buried his hand in the desk drawer, pulled out the shot glass and poured a stiff one.
(c) 2010 J.B. Fletcher