Bead of dew on canvas wet,  the longest blade of grass.With a hint of deep blue,  carried on falling leaves. Unfolding a silent promise,  the sun's gentle painter- Over the horizon's caress.

The damp air of Ambiguity, Mississippi, hung thick as a shroud, smelling of mud, cypress knees, and things that had died slow. Just past dusk, I found myself leaning against the battered wall of a juke joint, a weathered...

  ...the rain came down, a steady soft sound,    on the roof.Running like a river,    down the window pane.And so it went,   lost in the flow,quiet moments,   of simplicity.

Well now, ain’t this a sticky gumbo. The Mississippi Delta, thick as a curfew in July, and the kinda humidity that makes your shirt stick to your back like a second skin. My name’s Chad Vincent, private gumshoe. Mostly...