The Last Dance at the Halo
The champagne in Long's glass had gone warm, but he drank it anyway because the alternative was admitting that he could not remember the last time anything he drank had tasted right. He stood on the terrace of the Halo Club, looking down at the lawn where people danced to a jazz band that was trying its best to sound like Gershwin and failing in interesting ways. The dancers were young—too...
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