The Concrete Howl
I remember the way Frank used to look at the skyline of 1970s New York—as if the buildings were bars of a cage. Frank was my neighbor in the tenements of the Bronx, a man who had once been a proud father until a feral dog, a beast born of the city's garbage and cruelty, had snatched his toddler from a sidewalk in a blur of grey fur and teeth. For years, I watched Frank transform. He didn't go...
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