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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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