The River's Burden
The Mississippi moved like time—slow enough to fool you, fast enough to drown you. Thomas Beauregard knew this the way a man knows his own heartbeat: not by thinking about it, but by feeling it pulse through everything he touched. He had woken in a bed that smelled of mildew and magnolia, in a house that leaned against the riverbank like an old man leaning against a cane. The fever that had...
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