He was from the wrong side of the bayou.
A place where voodoo was revered and fallen angels whispered.
I didn’t care.
I loved him from the first time we played together, and I love him still.
I haven’t seen him in so long.
I went back to New Orleans when I could.
I never stopped thinking about him.
My bayou boy with the heavy Cajun accent.
I just didn’t know that the happy little boy had turned into such a different man.
I didn’t know that he had been looking for me too.
I didn’t know a lot of things.
But finding out was much worse than staying in the dark.
One Hundred Saints
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