Sometime that fall, I visited my family in Arizona.
I was at my parents’ house, sitting in their living room, my mom was already asleep, and my dad and I were getting into a bottle of wine.
Like most of the people in my life, my parents knew about the book from a high level. Beth was probably the one who best understood my fixation with it, but even she didn’t truly know the depths.
Eventually, my dad and I started talking about Denver Nights.
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