The Man in the Lab Coat
I. The kid sat across from me in a chair that had seen better decades and smelled like someone else's problems. He was young—maybe twenty-two, maybe twenty-four, hard to tell in the half-light of the Brooklyn tenement. Pale, intelligent eyes that had learned to look at everything the way a street dog looks at a door: calculating the distance, the speed, the chance of making it through. "Sit...
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