Over the course of 20 raucous years, J. J. Jameson became a fixture on the city's lively poetry circuit—a loud, drunken declaimer out of central casting. So his many friends were more than a little shocked when Massachusetts police came to town this spring and arrested him. He had been active in his church, loyal to a fault, unusually talented—and his writing revealed such intimate details of his life that people on the scene thought they knew him. But they didn't know he had been doing time for murder, and had escaped. They didn't even know his real name.
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