The wharf was quiet and the streetlamps were working against the fog like an octogenarian pushing a cadillac uphill.
I tiptoed down the alley to the speakeasy. I knocked and a pair of green eyes looked at me through the slit.
What's the password?
Green eyes had a voice like a frog with a cigar habit.
Ain't no password,
I said.
The door opened and I went in. A saxaphone played, but I couldn't tell where the hell it was. There was a couple in the corner booth. The woman giggled at everything the man said. The rest of crowd was a half a dozen old farts and their drinks. The short dude working behind the barsnapped his fingrs at me.
What business you got?
I smiled like he was my best friend,.
Lookin' for a dame.
Not a good place for it
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