The River Signal
Thomas Reid had been awake for hours. It was past two in the morning, and the trailer smelled of stale tobacco and the sour, metallic tang of the Mississippi River coming through the cracked window. He sat in his recliner, the kind with the cup holder in the arm that had fallen off years ago, and listened to the static. The radio sat on a crate beside him. It was an old thing, a Sony he'd...
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