“Louis Armand’s Breakfast at Midnight crackles across the page like a cloaked drummer keeping time on a hi-hat cymbal in some broken down, forgotten nightclub on the wrong side of the tracks …” So begins my descent into Prague’s literary underbelly. Armand’s novel is quite fantastic, in a make-you-want-to-take-a-shower kind of way, and you can read my thoughts on it over at Rain Taxi.
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Benjamin Woodard 