Blood Hound
The mud in the Delta didn't just stick to you. It claimed you. It got under your fingernails and in your shoes and between your toes and into the seams of your soul, and once it was there, it never really left. You could wash it off, change your clothes, move to New Orleans or Chicago or anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon line, but somewhere deep in you, the mud stayed. Hattie Mayfield knew...
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