BB
My ghost story...
The Summer of 1990
It was deep in the summer of 1990, in a corner of Louisiana where the air sticks to your skin and everything smells like wet wood and impending rain. That’s when my girlfriend and I broke up.
“I can’t keep pretending,” she’d said that last night, her voice barely above a whisper. We were sitting on her porch swing, the chains creaking w…
