The Silver Blade
The rain in Los Angeles don't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I was hanging off the side of the Pentagon Annex building on Sunset, two hundred feet of empty air between my boots and the sidewalk, watching the rain turn the neon signs into watercolor paintings. My left shoulder was killing me—the shrapnel from Okinawa don't like cold weather, and November in LA is about as...
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