The Night Does Not End
The rain in Chicago does not clean anything. It just makes the grime wetter. Jack Moran sat at his bar stool nursing a whiskey that cost three dollars and tasted like regret, watching the rain sheet down the window of the bar on State Street. He had been sitting there for two hours. He had been sitting in bars for two years.The door opened and a woman walked in. She was thirty-something,...
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