Thursday, July 24, 2008


Last night my brother in law died. When we went to the apartment he’d been staying in, we found his wallet, cellphone, keys, slippers, clothes, and a half crushed, half smoked pack of Marlboro 100s. It was in truth, the Marlboros that were the saddest thing to find: something so personal, and so disposable: a half smoked pack, from a half lived life.

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