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Interpol in Spring

Interpol in spring: we inhale the tangy aroma of international mandate; we set aside our differences in the concurrent investigative bustle. Papers shuffle here and there, nicking fingers and dripping blood upon our desks. We none too gently bind those wounds and stamp the next red stamp. The air is warm on those days. Officials and delegates fly by night under our noses, speeding the anxious pulse of our hearts and the bureaucratic flow of blood from our fingers. Years later, we recall those fond times, reviewing a Congressional decision with sentimental tears in our eyes.





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