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Nothing,
nothing
mattered,
and
I
knew
why.
So
did
he.
Throughout
the
whole
absurd
life
I'd
lived,
a
dark
wind
had
been
rising
toward
me
from
somewhere
deep
in
my
future,
across
years
that
were
still
to
come,
and
as
it
passed,
this
wind
leveled
whatever
was
offered
to
me
at
the
time,
in
years
no
more
real
than
the
ones
I
was
living.
What
did
other
people's
deaths
or
a
mother's
love
matter
to
me;
what
did
his
God
or
the
lives
people
choose
or
the
fate
they
think
they
elect
matter
to
me
when
we're
all
elected
by
the
same
fate,
me
and
billions
of
privileged
people
like
him
who
also
called
themselves
my
brothers?
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