Jack Morrison stood on the balcony of his apartment on West 74th Street and watched the city breathe
Jack Morrison stood on the balcony of his apartment on West 74th Street and watched the city breathe below. It was 1926, and New York breathed in neon and exhaled jazz. From this height, the streets looked like veins and the cars like blood cells moving through the arteries of something vast and alive. Inside, the apartment was everything Jack had once dreamed of. Crystal glasses on silver...
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