The champagne was cold, the saxophone was loud, and nobody in that room on Fifth Avenue cared about anything real. I knew this because I had lived this life before, and I remembered exactly how it ended.
My name is Julian Ashworth, and three months ago I was hit by a taxi on Broadway. I lay in the street for twelve hours, bleeding onto the sidewalk, watching the neon signs of Times Square flicker above me like the stars in some cruel and indifferent sky. When I woke up in the hospital, I remembered everything. Not a past life. Not a previous incarnation. A different life—one that had happened...
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