You once said: My reward for this life will be a Lakh Rupees of dirt
shoveled in my face. You were wrong. You are seven rupees of ashes
in a box, a Puerto Rican flag wrapped around you, next to a red brick
from the house in Utuado where you were born, all crammed together
on my bookshelf. You taught me there is no God, no life after this life,
so I know you are not watching me type this letter over my shoulder.
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