Memory

I miss this guy.  I still remember the night we were all out dancing in the White Room, he told me I was like a daughter to him.  It probably occurred to me at some point that I’d never see him again after leaving Thailand.  For one month, we were classmates, we were friends.  It was a motorcycle accident.   Love you John.  The world is worse off without you.  Thank you for lending me pens.  Thanks for the laughs, the advice, thanks for being my Dad away from home.

 All the cigarette boxes in Thailand have these nasty pictures of rotting teeth and body parts.  He once told me “Well I can’t stop smoking now can I?  I have to collect them all.”

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