The Pattern That Repeats at Every Altitude
The bar was called The Meridian, and it sat on the corner of Santa Monica and Vine in a building that had been a bank, then a church, then a restaurant, and was now a bar that served bourbon to men who had given up on everything except the bourbon. The bartender was a woman named Grace who had been working there for seventeen years and who had seen the bar change from a bank to a church to a...
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