βEven if he didnβt carry the scent of leaves disintegrating to mud at the bottom of a river, the aroma of the bowl of bayou, heavy with water and sediment and the skeletons of small dead creatures, drab, fish, snakes, and shrimp, I would still know he is Riverβs by the look of him.β
Read MoreQuiet Kind of Reads: Sing, Unburied, Sing
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