What if some of the people who do those crap jobs in Las Vegas are actually angels ... or demons ... or something in between?
The maid. The blackjack dealer. Like anybody stuck in a dead-end job, they're bitter, short-tempered and sick of your shit.
They read our trash like an oracle reads the entrails of a crow: discarded plastic cocktail cups, used condoms, soiled sheets,... [click here for more]
"My name is John Doe. I've been dead for ten years."
I have no heartbeat, no breath, no smell, just cold, clammy flesh animated by something I don't understand. So I sell my dead flesh to the highest bidder. If the price is right, I'll kill for you, steal for you, or save your life for you. There's no mystery you can't hire me to solve... apart from this one.
The bent copper torn apart... [click here for more]