Along the River of Flesh (Gone to See the River Man, #2)

by Kristopher Triana

Love is a ghost story, and the heart is its haunted house.

So many screams, like a human slaughterhouse in my skull.

And the blood runs like a river. And the river is our home.

It wasn’t exhaustion that made him reluctant to get out of bed, but an urge to avoid the everyday world.

Solitary men were often victims of their own sentimentality, and nothing set the despondency reeling like a wonderful memory.

In the end, a man becomes what he pretends to be.