The Chronos
I The invitation arrived during a performance of Debussy. I was in the balcony of the Opera House in Havana, surrounded by the smell of perfume and cigar smoke, when a waiter placed a golden card on my table without a word. It was heavy, the kind of cardstock that costs more than most men earn in a month. My name was engraved on it in a hand that looked like it had been learned in a court:...
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