The coffee had gone cold three hours ago. Mike didn't care. Cold coffee was better than no coffee, and no coffee was better than talking to people, and talking to people was the worst thing you could do in a place like this.
Duluth in December was not a city. It was a condition. A condition you caught like a cold and carried with you until spring, if spring ever came and decided to include you in its plans. Mike Kowalski sat in his car—a 1998 Ford Taurus with a rusted-out passenger door and a heater that blew lukewarm air that smelled like wet dog—parked outside a strip mall on London Road. The strip mall contained...
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