the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
— Robert Frost, “October”
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
— Robert Frost, “October”