Bogart leaned back, his eyes narrowing. He lived by a simple code: the world is always one drink behind. He knew that finding a missing person in this town was like trying to find a honest man in a den of thieves. But for a beautiful fox, he was willing to try.
The rain in Casablanca didn't wash away the sins; it just made them shiny. In the dimly lit corner of Rick’s Café, sat with a glass of lukewarm bourbon and a heavy heart. He was a man out of time, a private investigator who preferred punching his way through a problem rather than talking it out. Bogart Vol 01 No 01
He turned away from the plane and walked back into the shadows of the city. He had a drink to catch up on, and a new story to write in the next volume of his life. Bogart leaned back, his eyes narrowing