Prologue The morning he stepped out of South Station, Boston felt like a verdict. Wet brick, ferry horns, the shiver of a gull’s cry over steel water. He stood a moment under the awning with his father’s old briefcase in hand, breath wisping pale, and watched the crowd carry its coffees toward another ordinary day. […]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Qm8eFTgddY&feature=feedu
