Matt W. Miller

SAID THE RIVER WHEN I BEGGED FOR HIS SONG   Kid, I may look so slicked back, coffee black, so coolest cat under a root of summer swelt that...
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L.S. McKee

Buzzard Goad stared at the old bridge. He’d always thought it would collapse one day ... the girders were rusted, the pilings vibrated with every passing car, and its lanes were so narrow, headlights rubbed like the sweat of racehorses. He was pretty sure most folks held their breath when they crossed it.

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