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fifty-calibre bullet travelling at 2,700 feet per second.
and it had been so quiet, he thought, that you could damn near hear your own hair grow.
“That you’re a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic.”
The American Drug Enforcement Agency classified a lab as a “superlab” if it could produce more than ten pounds of meth every week.
Wholesale, a pound of methamphetamine was worth $17,000.
hygiene looked as if it was an afterthought.
It was a good lesson learned: style trumped substance every single time. It was ever thus.
back row at meetings the Denial Aisle,
“Sorry about that. Low tolerance level for idiots.”
old political adage: losers spin, winners grin.

