that wounded rider knows the intimacies of the river. its earliest mud is still under his fingernails.

Grace and Fury walk with you, call each by name when the other has failed	the desert was once alive, but I don't remember it	The sky rained tears. I was sure.	I hope my pony knows the way back home
January 24, 2006	we woke up to find you gone. well, said the city, we still have the river.	text-based virtual reality	The Essence
This Maasai Maiden	lahar	The boots of the corpse that I found in the river, the ones that you wore and followed for miles.	The Nightingale
Dermatillomania	Read you a Story instead	Why channelizing a river is never a good idea	jackfruit
Inveterate

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