My New Year's resolution is to get back properly into doing the comp, so here's my version of Grim Grin.
The lazy ceiling fan did little to disturb the air, and the heat remained oppressive as a stench. Two whores could be heard arguing half-heartedly in a back room. From time to time the fat Venezuelan behind the bar cast a glance at Hoagie. This was not, the ex-diplomat was certain, out of any personal curiosity, since nobody here troubled themselves to be curious about the human flotsam cast up near to them. It was a wary checking-over, inspired by the contempt appropriate to a man who had just bartered his rosary for a glass of cheap local whisky. Soon the three smartly-dressed men from the CIA would arrive, and they were going to kill Hoagie. That would be an ending at least, and therefore a resolution of sorts. Maybe even a kind of redemption.
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