could move. That afternoon, I drove to Franco’s house in Robledo. He lived forty minutes away in a small brick place with a porch he had rebuilt himself and a garage that smelled permanently of sawdust. I found him sanding an old rocking chair. He looked up. ” He switched off the sander. I had rehearsed the sentence during the entire drive. I lost it immediately. ” Franco’s expression didn’t change much. He set the sanding block down. ” Franco did not ask why. He did not insult my father. He did not
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