The Needle and the Gun
I.The rain hadn't stopped for eleven days. Jack Mercer watched it slide down the window of his apartment on Sunset Boulevard, turning the neon sign of the pharmacy across the street into a smear of red and blue. He was twenty-four, and he had been dead for three years. Or maybe he hadn't. The lines between then and now were getting blurry, like a photograph left too long in the sun.He...
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