The Count in the Rain
The rain in New York doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker, turns the sidewalks into mirrors that reflect the neon signs in long distorted streaks of red and blue and sickly yellow. Sammy Goldstein knew this. He had known it since he was a kid walking these streets, since the Army, since the restaurant on 47th Street that was supposed to be his fresh start and was instead...
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