Arrangement
Part I The jazz cellar was underground, which meant it was always humid and smelled of three things: cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and regret. Ronnie sat at the corner table with a whiskey that had melted halfway through its ice and a cigarette she had lit five minutes ago and still hadn\'t taken a puff from. She was thinking about Tommy. Of course she was. The man had a gravitational pull,...
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