He's been gone for what seems like a lifetime. You notice it in the fleeting moments, when you hear a joke you think he'd have liked, when you see a great deal on a new vacuum. We'd devoted an entire year to his very existence, celebrating his every breath and parading his visage around to all who'd gaze upon it. Even so, the world crumbled beneath our feet. The economy turned sour, and our year of jubilation ended with a whimper. And so, feeling responsible for the collapsing of society as we'd once known it, he fled. We now find ourselves in a new age, one in which we take stock of who and what we hold closest, and eschew the excess luxuries that had once brought us such misguided comfort. If the Year of Luigi ended like one final drawn-out note echoing through the cathedral walls during a funeral procession, then maybe this new age, this Dearth of Luigi, could be our slow salvation. In his absence, we find comfort. In his absence, we can rebuild.
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