From La Vecchia. I only worked with you two or three shifts, and learned you were a writer like me. I remember how well you worked the bar under pressure, and how you never snapped at anyone, even though the Chef would always pick on you. I bet she feels bad now. I bet she'll bite her tongue from this day forth. I came back to visit La Vecchia a few months later, and always sat behind the bar because you were my favorite person there. You were funny and easygoing, I much preferred it than sitting formally in the front or in the back. We would exchange thoughts on literature, and you were always so sweet and kind. I barely knew you, but I feel like weeping at the world's loss. I remember you told me of your dreams of publishing your novel, you had the entire world ahead of you... Why has this happened? Why now? I'm sitting at a cafe studying, and now all I feel is numb and in utter shock. We lost you too soon, this isn't fair. Of all the people, why someone so sweet and unnoticed as you? Well let this be a tribute then, you are immortal in my eyes, Dear David. Though I barely knew you, I shall never forget you - and if I ever publish - you will be a character, eternal in the pages of history. I will write about you as I knew you, and know this - wherever you are now - thank you. Thank you for training me behind the bar, thank you for serving me and showing me such a pleasant time whenever I visited La Veccia. Thank you for your contributions in your short-lived life. I'm sorry for those who spoke down to you or took advantage of you at work. You were and always will be everlasting and inspiring in my eyes. Rest in Peace, David. |
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