The Frequency of Peace
The Frequency of Peace ACT I The speakeasy on West 47th Street smelled of gin and cigarette smoke and the particular desperation that characterized the Jazz Age. Thomas Whitmore sat in a corner booth, nursing a bourbon that cost more than his weekly salary at Princeton, listening to a saxophone player who was very good and very drunk. Around him, flappers danced with men who wore their wealth...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizare