The Pattern
The Pattern Victor Hale sat on my couch and described the taste of his own poison with the same detachment he might use to describe a bad meal. "Lavazza," he said. "Whole bean. I've had it every morning for five years. This one tasted slightly different. Not bitter. Not more than usual. Just... off." "How do you know it was an off espresso?" "I know my body, Dr. Whitmore. I know what I put in...
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