The Arena
The Arena ACT I The porch had given up three years ago, and Silas O'Donnell sat on what remained of it like a man who had lost the argument with gravity and decided, out of pride or exhaustion, to stop falling. The sun over the Mississippi delta did not set so much as suffocate—each evening it sank behind the dead cotton fields the color of old bruising, and the humidity clung to everything...
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