The Tomorrow Amnesiac
I. The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash things clean. It just made the grime slicker. Jack Morrison sat in his Ford sedan outside a bar on Sunset Boulevard and watched the neon bleed into the wet pavement. Inside, he could hear the piano player working through a tune he'd played a hundred times before. Jack didn't go in. He was waiting for something. Or someone. He had been waiting for three...
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