The time to tell the truth is ending. The sun will rise, and, just like Manhunt, the events of the night will cure with their own radiant lore. A glorious, glowing lie will replace the cold, dark truth. It disgusts me. I realize why: It’s a form of indulgent memorialization. It’s like my parents and the adults of Aspen telling me what Caroline would have wanted, what she stood for, what her death means. The eulogy replaces the person; the story told takes the place of the life lived. The secret of tonight will replace these silly nocturnal antics with a forbidden luster. The truth will lock up
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