The Golden Boy
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An honest cop. Some would say it doesn't exist. Sword of justice. Steward of the people.

Say it's true. Say your badge does shine brighter than your fellows, scraping by on the coat-tails of any local gangster that comes along — then what? What's an honest face get you in a den of thieves? Robbed. Robbed of years, given to a military that treated you like fodder for the mill of patriotism. Of respect, by a people so swollen and bloated on the freedom you fought for that they can't be bothered to remember how they got there. And then, of course, there's the broad. That one who couldn't even wait long enough for you to come home.

Stings like the bullet in your gut. But it should.

It's always the broads that get you.

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