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When we die, our bodies turn to dust,” he says. “If you were nobody of consequence, you’re forgotten unless you do something worth remembering.” When he looks my way, I purse my lips and look down. “Otherwise, you’re just another place marker in the ground. These buildings will rot here, their bodies are above the ground taunting us with what we did wrong as a people. Reminding us of the evil we’re capable of. They are constant.
