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In a hidey hole on the edge of the downtown, El Cid and Wight go car to car with me after clearing an assault. Going to grab a snack, El Cid starts to pop the tailgate and stops. Her face is confused.
“Guys, come here and look. You have to take a look.”
Her expression peaks my interest.
On the back of their FIU, a boloney sandwich has been skewered to the roof by dirty a needle.
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