The Man with Three Tails
The bar on State Street smelled like regret and cheap rye, which is to say it smelled like Chicago in 1947. I sat at the counter with my back to the wall and my face in my hands, which is also what I always did. They called me Longface around here, and I let them. Names are like tattoos—you can get them removed, but the scar stays.My face was long because of a fight I got into when I was...
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