The gym smelled like sweat and rust and the particular kind of damp that only exists in basements that were once something else.
Danny Kovac wiped the floor with a mop that had more holes than fabric and watched the water spread across the concrete in dark, irregular patches. His right knee ached. It always ached when it rained, and it had been raining in Pittsburgh for three days straight, a steady gray drizzle that made everything feel like it was slowly dissolving. He was thirty-four years old. He had been thirty-four...
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