Indebted to the Mafia King
The night is fucking cold, and the streets are bustling with people walking in and out of stores to buy their last minute Christmas gifts.
I’ve always loved this side of New York City. There’s always something going on. The city never sleeps.
My eyes dart toward the bookstore across the street, noticing the lights are still on despite the ‘Closed’ sign on the door. I take a puff of my cigarette, my gaze never leaving the woman inside while she moves piles of books from one shelf to another, making sure everything is in the right place.
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