The Scammer by Sydnie Stern; cover story
“Nothing different, Americano,” he laughs and ignites the pipe with a sharp flicker, surveying me through the gauze of a glassy stare.
His loft seemed to house more glass articles from the last time I’d seen it, they’d multiplied like a colony of cells. Morgante dismissed my observation, and continued launching plumes of smoke into the air, a silent declaration that the atmosphere belonged to him and his pipe.
The lone digit hours of the early morning drew near, like a slow...