Tío wore sunglasses in this dimply lit room, the fashionable teardrop-shaped kind with thin golden frames that look like pilot sunglasses. His black hair was combed back, shining with oil. His lips looked thin, with his tiny moustache on the upper lip, which he thought made him look classy. He didn’t smile or laugh but had a somewhat painfully amused smirk on his face, as one would after one had been told that the neighbor’s aggressive pit bull had just accidentally been killed.

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