I have been in love with New York ever since
visiting it for the first time with my parents, a 10-year old who spoke no
English whatsoever (except for talking about tables next to windows etc.). I
think this book is the greatest testament of love to the city in recent
literature. Or maybe ever.
Monty is a drug dealer who doesn’t really look
or act like one in his last day of freedom before the start of his seven-year
sentence. He is afraid: of losing his girlfriend (actually, he takes the loss
for granted), of actually ending the life of the snitch who led to his arrest,
of facing all sorts of abuse from inmates because of his poster-boy face. All
fears that are extremely justified, by the way.
This is a great book, I just wonder what made
Benioff’s career go from this masterpiece to Game of Thrones (which I suspect might have given him a lot more
money...)
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