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Summary
He didn’t look up as the stranger puttered to the jukebox, focused as he was with the smears on his glass. At least, until the telltale clicking of the record selector marked the beginning of a soft jazz number.
Vander sighed. “Now come on, I told you-” As he looked up, he froze, and his words burned to ash in his mouth.
There, in the middle of the room, Silco swayed his hips to the sultry double bass.(Or, young Silco walks into the Last Drop years after Vander drowned him.)
