It is hard to explain away a fascination with true crime, because it’s typically a deep wallow in the worst kind of depravity trafficked in by humans. At the bookstore, it is usually tucked away in a far corner, in the same way an old video store hid the adult fare behind strings of beads. True crime is a somewhat seedy literary genre. Jeanine Cummins, A Rip in Heaven: A Memoir of Murder and Its Aftermath A few enormous hanging vines dangled from the top of the bridge’s skeleton, and they shifted and swayed eerily in the darkness…” The massive steel structure was wild with leaves, and the undergrowth near the base was dense and uninviting. He willed himself to move forward but he felt stuck, mesmerized by the menacing old bridge that loomed up before him. Tom stopped dead in his tracks, causing Robin to stumble into his back. “They came into the clearing suddenly and the moon opened up above them, lighting the cracked and broken concrete that stretched like the decaying bones of giants between them and the abandoned Old Chain of Rocks Bridge.
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