Spy Identity.
A simple story of a spy meeting his old friend who can no longer be trusted.
I sat leaning forward, with my elbows resting on the rough top of the light wood table. For obvious reasons, as always, I decided to sit close to the huge window, on which there was a bold sign announcing the name of the place. The white stem was bent into a characteristic arc, which was certainly intended to refer in its style to the declaration of the windows of premises I had previously known from classic cinema produc...