The Bright Commission
The neon lights of Lenox Avenue hummed with a sound that Marcus Williams had never quite learned to ignore. It was a low electric buzz, like the city itself was breathing, and on nights like this—hot, humid, thick with the sound of jazz spilling out of every doorway—it felt like the whole of Harlem was breathing together. Marcus was twenty-four years old, and he had been writing for the Harlem...
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