Jack Callahan woke up in a world that had ended thirty years ago.
He knew this because the newspapers in the pawnshop on Spring Street told him so, and the pawnshop owner, a man named Sal who had seen everything and was impressed by nothing, confirmed it with a wave of his hand and a shrug that said: what's the point of arguing with paper? 1977. The year was 1977. Jack had been in a game for thirty years—a game he hadn't known was a game, playing by rules he...
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