The rain in Brooklyn doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the filth wetter.
The rain in Brooklyn doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the filth wetter. I was in a narrow alley off Fourth Avenue when three men decided to make me their problem. The first one came at me with a bottle — amateur hour, I'd seen that move a hundred times. I caught his wrist, twisted it, and the bottle hit the brick wall with a sound like a church bell. The second one had a knife. Knife...
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