The Rhythm of Five
Part One The piano in the basement of 132 West 135th Street had a broken middle C, and Marcus Sterling did not care. He sat on the stool every night after his shift at the shipyard, his long fingers finding the keys by memory, and played the rhythm his grandfather had taught him. It was not a song. It was not a melody. It was a sequence of movements, five distinct patterns of rhythm and body...
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