THE PHONE FROM TOMORROW
THE PHONE FROM TOMORROW I The phone rang at 3:47 AM, which is not really a time at all. It's the hour when the city admits it's been lying to you. Jack Morann stared at the rotary phone on his bedside table like it was a dead rat. He had been asleep—or trying to be—in his walk-up on Atlantic Avenue, Brooklyn, surrounded by empty bottles of Old Fashioned and paperback mysteries that had become...
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