Ian Creasey, “Crimes, Follies, Misfortunes, and Love,” Asimov’s, August. “Maybe they’re back. She could never leave without having the last word. Heroes covered the wall.
A guitar began to play old-fashioned country blues, the real thing, but on a really bad instrument. I was helping Margaret clean up. She had taken his continued presence as proof of his devotion. The river stopped here on a knife edge and fell a thousand feet to the gorge floor below.
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