brick. It was now at this moment, with a mouth full of blood, that he recognized his mistake. He’d gotten so accustomed to the larger-than-life cartoon characters that passed themselves off as tough guys in sound booths in Atlanta, spinning tales of a life they had only observed from the edges, taking that bystander’s knowledge and creating tales of imagined street cred that got downloaded millions of times by similarly false thugs who wanted to believe they were about that life, that he’d forgotten there were real gangsters out there. Men for whom murder was just another part of the job.
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