He was the first to arrive and just sat there, at the back, right near the buffet table where the aroma of mixed fiesta food entices the tongue to drool uncontrollably. He was jolly that morning, most people said.
He was the first to grab a plate, shoveling the food from each aluminum container. He was the first to feast.
He killed himself the next day, with a gun.
[From a conversation]
“Under which streets would I like to lie when I’m sent to die? Underneath whose treading? Whose footsteps would I like to hear forever?”
[Eduardo Galeano, Days and Nights of Love and War]