The Walls of Beauregard
The humidity in Mississippi doesn't just make you sweat. It presses down on you like a wet hand, slow and insistent, until you forget what dry air feels like. I stood in the abandoned cotton processing plant on the Beauregard estate and felt it between my shoulders, heavy as a sin. The building had been empty since 1865, though nobody in the family ever bothered to demolish it. The roof leaked....
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