“ My companion wanted to take pictures. I wanted to live and managed to convince him that thugs'
devotional moments were not for our cameras. When it came time to leave, the warm patroness of
the shrine locked up the stand in which she sold votive candles and medallions, took each of us by an arm -- as
if nothing less than bodily contact with death's caretaker would keep us safe -- and walked
us to the subway. We survived that little moment
of direct contact with the drug war. So many others have not.
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