The Last Bottle on the Shelf
Mickey O'Shea woke with the taste of bad gin and worse decisions in his mouth and the sun coming through the blinds in stripes that cut the room into narrow sections of light and shadow. The room was above a barbershop on West Division Street, three blocks from the river, and the barbershop was a front. Behind the barbershop there was a door that looked like a broom closet. Behind that door...
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