THE LONG GOODBYE
I. Wade Callahan woke to the smell of mildew. It was always there—waking, sleeping, drunk, sober—like an old friend he never asked for but couldn't shake. The basement apartment smelled of wet cardboard, stale beer, and the rust-tinged air that seeped up from the abandoned factory two blocks east. He lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles. Not the fancy kind. The kind that...
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