1962 (written from memory of 1927)
They tell you the jazz age was all glitter, and they are not wrong. But they do not tell you about the people who cleaned up the glitter in the morning, or about the men and women who walked the streets after midnight when the spotlight moved uptown and the darkness became something you could hold in your hands and see through. My name was Elijah Washington. I was twenty-four years old, a poet...
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