The Route
The heat in Mississippi was a physical thing. It pressed down on the state like a hand, heavy and unyielding, and by mid-July it had turned the dirt roads to powder and the air to soup. Ellis Foster sat on the porch of his sharecropper's cabin, a glass of sweet tea sweating on the table beside him, listening to the cicadas scream and the耳鸣 ring in his left ear. The耳鸣 was a high-pitched whine...
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