The Messenger of Peace
The jazz played from the corner radio, bright and careless, as Thomas West wiped the forty-second floor of the Chrysler Building and watched New York glitter below him. It was 1925, and the city was drunk on money and music and the belief that tomorrow would be better than today. Thomas believed it too, or at least he wanted to. He was twenty-three, from a small town in Kansas where the sky was...
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