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"Jeez, look at this guy's rap sheet. There must be 3 pounds of ink on these pages." Ras handed the files over to Boris. Boris looked quickly at Ras then back to the file.
"You sure? Cuz, if you don't mind, I don't mind," Boris said, already perusing the numerous reports.
Ras was sitting on the edge of his desk sort of balanced on one cheek as he kept a watchful eye out over the wall of his cubical. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at Boris.
"Bone head," Boris said, waiving the smoke away with his free hand, "You know my wife will kick my ass if she thinks I've been smoking again."
Ras leaned over a bit closer toward his target and blew a thick cloud of the toxic stuff into Boris' neatly-groomed toupee. Boris jerked away and dropped the file on the floor, spilling it's contents across the small office space and under the partition, into the next office over.
Ras instantly laughed at this and wedged his cigarette between two books on the shelf overhead. "You're so whipped."
"Screw you, Ras" replied Boris, bending over to gather the papers he could from his perch.
A voice called out, "Who brought their kids to the office?"
"Sorry Harvey." Ras dashed around the corner and picked up the loose sheets of paper. He noticed a small photograph paperclipped to one of the sheets. "Hello -- what have we here?"
Boris took the photo from Ras' hands. Looking at the old black and white Polaroid, he could only shake his head in disbelief at what his eyes were telling him.
"That son-of-a-b......"
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