"North Philly, May 4, 2001. Officer Sean Devlin, Narcotics Strike Force, was
working the morning shift. Undercover surveillance. The neighborhood? Tough
as a three-dollar steak. Devlin knew. Five years on the beat, nine months
with the Strike Force. He'd made fifteen, twenty drug busts in the
"Devlin spotted him: a lone man on the corner. Another approached. Quick
exchange of words. Cash handed over; small objects handed back. Each man
then quickly on his own way. Devlin knew the guy wasn't buying bus tokens.
He radioed a description and Officer Stein picked up the buyer. Sure enough:
three bags of crack in the guy's pocket. Head downtown and book him. Just
another day at the office."
No jive. The dude's got a secret yearning ...
Fact is, being the Chief Justice ain't half as good as being noir-y.
(Wonder when Roberts last had a three dollar steak. Hmmm. I heard those court cafeterias were good.)
OTOH, in the early 19th Century Sir John Franklin, trying to get through to
Alaska via the still-elusive Northwest Passage, famously got so hungry that
he ate his boots, unadorned with any kind of spice.
Now that's noir.
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