The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything clean. It just made the grime slicker, turned the dust on the sidewalk to a thin brown paste that tracked into every doorway and left every shoe print like a fingerprint.
Jack Morrison stood at his office window on the fourth floor of the building on Hill Street and watched the rain fall. The window didn't close all the way, and the water found its way in anyway, running down the sill and pooling on the desk where it mixed with old coffee rings and cigarette ash. Jack didn't bother wiping it up. Water on the desk was just one more thing he'd have to deal with...
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