The Last Bootlegger's Road
The saxophone wept in the basement of the speakeasy, a low and liquid sound that curled through the smoke like ribbon through candlelight. Jack Calloway played with his eyes closed and forgot, for three minutes and forty-two seconds, that he was thirty years old and still living in his mother's apartment in Harlem. When he opened his eyes, the room was full of strangers who moved like they knew...
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