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            “We are what we read”, your lips moving said closing the Book of Forgetting. Your skill in saying things can only be compared to the Death Row barber who always says “Visit me before the execution” as if it were ever possible for the condemned to visit him after their execution. Anyway, “We are what we eat”, your lips said next folding the napkin and demolishing the arguments of the exile conditions waiting to heal the small parcels of pain the authorities were handing out. “So what is it”, you said again without moving your lips. I took it as lip service and I turned to the other side of the bed thinking that we are what we dream.