The Jazz Age Transcendent
The basement smelled of sweat, blood, and cheap whiskey, which in 1924 Brooklyn was practically the smell of life itself. Ethan Cohen stood in the centre of a ring of cheering men, his knuckles split and bleeding, his left rib screaming with every breath, and the fight was already won. His opponent, a Montenegrin immigrant known as the Butcher of Bensonhurst, was unconscious on the canvas. But...
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