In blue-collar Baltimore, 1963, these guys have Palm Springs tans. They drive Cadillacs that pull into their parking spaces like a Thanksgiving Day parade of metal sharks. Who are they -- the Mob? More like the lost patrol. They are middle-aged men without women, salesmen peddling an obsolete product: themselves. They take an artist's pride in the egregious frauds they dream up ) to sell some aluminum siding to a gullible homeowner. Ask them why they spend all this creative energy either on the job or drinking it off, and they will probably confess that they do it to support a...
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