There’s a sad strangeness to this town, deep rooted in the mud banks of the river. When summer came, dragging flies out on their bellies and burning the corn fields, me and Levi and Julia would go out hunting in the woods, Levi clutching at his daddy’s rifle, me and Julia with our pigtailed hair up in ribbons. In the winters, when frost froze the river grey and the birds left until the spring we’d build campfires in our back yards and carve pumpkins with kitchen knives. All that’s left is the..