Subject: This toothpick gives you the same buzz as smoking

From: "Emily Stout" <[email-masked]>
Date: Mon, 10 Oct 2016 07:09:30 -0700

Today News

Suck on this toothpick and experience the same high as smoking.

-Its discreet and feels great.
-No Smell
-Same buzz
-Completely legal to use anywhere

See what all the hype is about

The crew explains everything

alty like homicide, but most of those subspecialties or designations were long gone. The year her father was murdered, there were nearly four hundred homicides. This year, so far, there had been twelve. Sixman homicide detective groups and the like had become obsolete. As soon as she passed the front desk, Keith Inchierca, the sergeant on duty, said, Captain wants to see you pronto. Keith pointed with his beefy thumb as though she might not know where the captains office was located. She took the steps two at a time up to the second floor. Despite her personal connection with Captain Stagger, she was rarely called into his office. She rapped her knuckles lightly on his door. Come in. She opened the door. His office was small and rainpavement gray. He was bent over his desk, his head lowered. Kats mouth suddenly went dry. Staggers head had been lowered that day too, eightee
n years ago, when he had knocked on her apartment door. Kat hadnt understood. Not at first. She always thought she would know if that knock came, that there would be a premonition of some sort. She had pictured the scene a hundred times in her headit would be late at night, pouring rain, a pounding knock. She would open the door, already knog what was to come. She would meet some cops eyes, shake her head, see his slow nod, and then fall to the ground screaming, No But when the knock actually came, when Stagger had come to deliver the news that would cleave her life in twoone person before that moment, another thereafterthe sun had been shining without hesitation or care. She had been heading uptown to the campus library at Columbia to work on a paper about the Marshall Plan. She still remembered that. The damn Marshall Plan. So she opened the door, preparing to head to the C train, and there was Stagger, standing, his head lowered, just like now, and she hadnt had a clue. He didnt
meet her eyes. The truththe weird, shameful truthwas that when she first saw Stagger in the hallway, Kat had thought that maybe he had come for her. She had suspected Stagger had a little crush on her. Young cops, especially those who considered Dad something of a father figure, fell for her. So when Stagger first popped up on her doorstep, that was what she thought: that despite knog she was engaged to Jeff, Stagger was about to make a subtle move on her. Nothing pushy. Staggerhis first name was Thomas, but no one ever used itwasnt the type. But something sweet. When she saw the blood on his shirt, her eyes had narrowed, but the truth still didnt reach her. Then he said three words, three simple words that came together and detonated in her chest, blog her world apart: Its bad, Kat. Stagger was nearing fifty now, married, four . Pographs dotted his desk. There was an old one of Stagger with his late partner, Homicide Detective Henry Donovan, aka Dad. Thats how it was. When you die
on the job, your picture ends up everywhere. Nice memorial for some. Painful reminder for others. On the wall behind Stagger, there was a framed poster of Staggers oldest, a high school junior, playing lacrosse. Stagger and his wife had a place in Brooklyn. It was a nice life, she supposed. You wanted to see me, Captain Outside of the precinct, she called him Stagger, but when it came to professional matters, she just couldnt do that. When Stagger looked up, she was surprised to see his face ashen. She involuntarily stepped back, almost expecting to hear those

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