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He is 26 years old and he speaks very softly. He is a short brown man. He shaves his head. One of his ears is not shaped the same as the other as if a notch had been cut in it. He was born in Thailand. His parents were refugees there. They were farmers in Cambodia until La Khmer Rouge came to their farm. They killed and ate his brother's dog in front of the boy, they killed and ate the family's cow. They were told to leave the farm and if they refused they would be killed. They left with the clothes on their back. They made a daring journey through the country, avoiding soldiers and thousands of land mines, with no food and two children. Many people were slaughtered there, children killed their own parents, and carried AK-47s on their shoulders. But his family stuck together and made it somehow to Thailand and later with the help of sponsors, to America. He said his parents lectured him often about how fortunate he was to have shoes and clothing and food. He shook his head in disbelief when he said "Did you know that people bowl with turkeys?" having seen the crazy stunt on television. "We would never play with our food." He speaks so softly I have to watch his lips to hear his words. His phone rings, "I'm coming, I'll be right there," he says impatiently. It is Evelyn, she has his lunch ready. He always shares lunch with Evelyn and Dot. He looks at me and I feel he is searching for a way to part after revealing himself to me. "They love you!" I say of Evelyn and Dot, "Thanks for the history lesson," I tell him, "Go eat your lunch." And he walks off. He is a man who works for my father.
Each of us is a universe unto ourselves.
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