The Resonance of Neon and Dust
The jazz in the Blue Note was a frantic, desperate thing, a collision of brass and sweat that tried to drown out the humming of the city. Julian Thorne leaned against the mahogany bar, his tuxedo slightly rumpled, a glass of amber liquid trembling in his hand. To the socialites of 1920s Manhattan, Julian was a ghost—a poet of the void, a man who spent his nights in the most opulent ballrooms...
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