9 years ago
The Death of the Private Eye
Imagine, for a second, a modern private-detective movie. A weeping wife is seated in the smoky, wood-paneled office of Skip Tracer, private investigator and overwrought cliché. She suspects that her husband is having an affair and wants Skip to tail him. He agrees, shakes on it, then cruises hubby’s Facebook profile to find that — quite by accident, being both a rookie adulterer and lousy with his iPhone settings...
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