The neon sign of the liquor store buzzed with an angry, epileptic hum, casting long, sickly shadows across the alleyway. Mark stood under it, shivering, his breath pluming in the November chill. He checked his watch. 2:14 AM. He was five minutes early, which meant he was already late in the world of private trades.
PRESS PLAY TO BEGIN SESSION.
"Proof?" Mark asked.
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