The Crystallization of Jack Moran
The rain was different that night. Not the usual Los Angeles rain that fell like a half-hearted apology from a city that had forgotten how to weep. This rain hit the asphalt with conviction, each drop a small fist hammering against the roof of Jack Moran's Ford as he sat in the parking lot of the Walsh Clinic and watched the lights flicker in the basement window. He was not drunk. That was the...
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