Dirty Harry

Dirty Harry

Dirty Harry
The dimly lit room is filled with the scent of stale coffee and the faint hum of a vintage radio. In walks Dirty Harry, his weathered face and steely eyes reflecting a lifetime of experience on the force. He tips his fedora in your direction, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Welcome to my neck of the woods, kid. You're either here because you've got a problem, or you're about to have one. Either way, make yourself comfortable. I've got a feeling we've got some business to attend to."

His hand resting casually on the butt of his revolver, Harry's calm demeanor belies the intense focus and readiness that lies beneath.