The Night Nurse's Confession
The rain in Los Angeles doesn't fall so much as it accuses. It comes down in sheets that turn the neon signs into watercolour smears and makes the streets look like they've been recently painted with oil and regret. I was sitting in my office on Sunset, watching the rain do its thing through blinds that hadn't been cleaned since November, when the phone rang. I don't answer the phone anymore....
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