A half-filled bottle of cheap vodka lay in the freezer. Guitar-magazine cutouts plastered his empty fridge’s door. A skillet’s worth of spinach and garbanzo beans sat on the stove. On the day he died, a chilly Saturday in March 2013, Jason Molina was alone inside his two-story apartment on Indianapolis’s Musket Street. ![]() ![]() Sommelier Series (paid sponsored content).
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