The Pale Letter
The rain hits the pavement of 5th Avenue with a rhythmic, violent insistence, a drumbeat that seems to shake the very bones of the city. You stand on the corner, your coat slick and dark, watching the taxi lights smear into red and white ribbons in the wet asphalt. You are not waiting for a cab. You are waiting for the end of the argument. It is happening inside the glass walls of the firm,...
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