The Last Man in Detroit
Billy woke up at seven. The apartment was cold. The power had been off for two weeks. He sat on the edge of the mattress, swung his legs over the side, and drank the beer that had been open since yesterday. It was warm and flat and tasted like metal. He did not care. The apartment was in Corktown. Or it had been Corktown once. Now it was just a building with broken windows and graffiti on the...
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