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Nothing Is Ever Done When Someone Dies In Mexico

The flights to San Miguel were typical – one too darn hot and cramped, a three-year-old sitting behind my seat, kicking and jamming her toes in my lower back while her mother drank.  The other flight (yes I took two) was freezing cold and much smaller, but I was blessed enough to have my own seat – no cramping.  However, the woman behind me, who was of very large stature, kept tugging and pulling on my seat each time she moved around.

I found myself starstruck on the second plane as Yann Martel boarded with his family and nearly fell on top of me getting to his seat.  It was in that moment that I realized I was riding with a plane full of writers – an airborn writing community.

Customs was a breeze.  Riding the shuttle to Franny’s house wasn’t!!!!  The roads are in poor condition and many of…

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