When Luis was 9, he'd collected a small terrarium of insects in a jam jar and successfully kept his miniature ecosystem alive for several months. One day, he found the bugs lying dead at the bottom of the jar and it was nearly impossible to console him.
"Lucho, no puedes controlar la vida," his grandfather had told him. "Sólo Dios puede hacer eso
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Luis leaned back in his seat and set the bottle down between them. "So what brings you up this way, amigo? Perhaps we are all having one of those introspective kind of nights, sí?"
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He knocked back the shot and set his glass down. "I'm just so sick of everything being a matter of life and death."
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"But you know what? I don't even have the right to bitch about it. I act like it's all my problem here, when the problem is so much personal for so many other people. Like it's such a BURDEN for me. If I wasn't myself, I would slap myself in the face for being such a drama queen."
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He hurriedly went for another shot. "Here I go again."
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He smirked and shook his head. "I don't trust my judgment anymore. I don't deserve this kind of responsibility."
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"Not really," he replied. "A friend of a friend at best. But it doesn't matter who it is. I have enough blood on my hands, and the idea of adding any more is starting to get to me."
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