Two old photoalbums were lying on the coffee table in my grandmother’s house. Thumbing through the albums I saw my grandmother in her youth, my father as a toddler dressed up for church and many baby pictures of my youngest uncle. Then I came across the photograph with a grim foretelling sense.
The boy fiddling with the motorcycle is my oldest uncle. Twenty years later he would become a motor mechanic and start a garage. The boy on the motorcycle is my youngest uncle. Twenty years later he would lose his life behind the wheel.
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