Note: Set two years in the future.
Thirty-six straight hours has passed since he left for work the گزشتہ morning, and Tony’s body aches. He misses his couch, he misses his bed, and he envies those agents who can claim truthfully that they see their homes almost every single night.
He fumbles clumsily for his keys, finding his wallet, a crumpled five dollar note and a gum wrapper first. He has no patience for this, as he had rather hoped to سے طرف کی raiding the contents of his refrigerator سے طرف کی now, which in all likelihood was probably empty, but he can’t remember. His stomach is complaining somewhat...
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