The Man Who Washed His Hands
The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker. Ed Malone knew this. He had been living in LA since 1945, since the war ended and he came back with a head full of bullets and a heart full of nothing, and he had learned that the rain here was the same as everywhere else—it fell on the righteous and the unrighteous and left both of them equally dirty. His...
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