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Emma Rebholz

On a Tuesday night we are the only ones on the road. We drive down Riffle Ford— and doesn’t that sound like a river? Doesn’t that sound like a knife dragging through the dirt of this town? Isn’t hunger just another word for ache? —  Emma Rebholz, “No Good Bloodsuckers,” The Misanthropy, Issue II, Fall… Continue reading Emma Rebholz

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