The Clear Glass City
The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. Jack Morin knew this the way a man knows his own face—in the mirror every morning, whether he wants to see it or not. It was a Tuesday in November 1947, the kind of Tuesday that feels like every other Tuesday, except it wasn't. Jack knew this because the man who walked into his office at 11:47 PM didn't look...
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