On the books, we call him Polysquasher 2. ![]() I felt as though I’d been hauled through a barbed-wire dragnet, but I knew they were counting on me to get the skinny on Poly. At least the sizzle of broken big band notes helped dull the sound of hard rain relentlessly hammering down on the rusted stairwell outside my dingy window. I was rudely awakened by that crackles of an old tube radio that drilled into my ears like an angry hornet. It seemed like it was just a few minutes before, when my lids finally closed under the hum of a broken, blinking motel sign. * Plaintive, emotion ebbs from a forlorn, solitary saxophone, somewhere down a distant alley. Let’s stick to the facts - just the facts." Only certain names have been changed to protect the innocent. "Ladies and gentlemen: the review you are about to read is true.
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