The Five-Gallon Discrepancy
The warehouse on Loomis Street smelled of damp pine and molasses and the faint chemical sweetness of bathtub gin curing in copper vats behind a false wall. Vince Caruso had been breathing that smell for six years, ever since he stepped off the boat from Palermo in 1919 with seven dollars in his coat and the address of a second cousin on Taylor Street. Now he was thirty-five, and the seven...
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