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I work with a fellow named Hung Lo.
And I knew from the moment I was introduced to him that I would never, ever, ever laugh at his name. A sweet, gentle man, and hard as fucking nails--South Vietnamese regular army, spent much of his 20s eating bugs as a POW and later in a refugee camp in Laos. He's in his fifties now, runs five miles a day, makes the best spring rolls I've ever tasted, and has a grin that lights up the room: he's known misery that I can't imagine, and is the happiest man I know.
On anybody else, it'd be a risible name—but on him it's pure gold. Hung Lo is the man, yo. |
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