The Last Jazz at the Edge of the Universe
The champagne tasted like everything Julian Ashworth had ever wanted and nothing he had ever needed. It bubbled on his tongue with the same false promise as the woman dancing beside him, the same hollow echo as the jazz band playing somewhere beyond the velvet curtains of the Long Island estate. He was twenty-seven years old, he had published two novels that received polite notices in the New...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση