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Dear Roberto,
I think you knew this was coming. Don’t act like you haven’t let me know things aren’t going well. Even now as I typed that sentence, I had to backtrack twice because the t’s don’t come out right. And when I ask a “z” from you? God, I miss the days when I would sit pushing your “r” button because it felt nice to press it over and over r, r, r or sometimes just to hold it down rrrrrrrrr imagining the feeling would never end. Your keys were supple then. Now hey sick, they stick. (See what I mean?) You’re old, Roberto. I feel you deteriorating underneath my fingertips....
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