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>be Roger Borkum >average upper-middle class IT guy >wife dedicates her free time to doing humanitarian work >decides to go to Africa to “help people” >i support her even though i feel a little uneasy about it >she leaves >last hug at the airport lasts a little too long >i almost tell her not to go but bite my tongue >don’t want to be racist >two weeks later i get the call >they found her body >beaten raped and killed by sub-saharan african savages >half my world is gone in one phone call >house becomes an empty museum of her stuff >guilt.exe >years pass >life falls apart >lose job, start drinking >still talk to her sometimes when no one’s around >go downtown to meet an old friend at the bar >havent seen him in a while, i need this >excited.exe >hours of laughter, the first ive smiled in a long time >say goodbye to friend >leave bar >group of black youth starts taunting me >laughing, circling, recording on phones >hear one say “sneak up on him” >don’t even bother running >im tired man >they jump me >boots, fists, everything >fade in and out of consciousness >they leave >come back >do it again >wake up in hospital >can’t move >can’t talk >everything hurts >doctor looks at me with pain in his eyes, like he already knows the ending >close my eyes >think of her on that trip >feel warm, like she’s touching my hand >can’t believe i’ve been beaten and killed by african american savages >flatline >reunited with my wife >no longer alone