The Shadow in the Static
ACT I The rain on Chicago didn't wash anything clean. It made the grime slicker. Made the streets shine like the back of a dead man's suit. I was sitting in my office on South State, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked like Florida if Florida had given up, when the phone rang. It was a woman's voice. Soft, careful, the kind of voice that had learned to speak softly and...
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