Dear Abraham,

Several months ago, during the World Meeting of Families, you approached our booth and asked if I would take your photo. “No problem,” I said. “I’m the company photographer.” So I took your picture and you wrote your email on a piece of paper so I could send it to you.

Unfortunately, that was the same day that the Secret Service marched through the place slapping down orders for all the vendors to vacate the premises within the hour with very little explanation. Between the hustle and bustle of hundreds of vendors rapidly packing up their inventory and deeply discounting everything because taking a loss on merchandise is cheaper than shipping it all home, the note with the email address was lost as I rushed out the door to do a photo shoot at one of the events surrounding the World Meeting. After the shoot, with the Secret Service marching down the street to eerily silence and only a bit of ambient street noise, the sound of a single street performer playing Ave Maria on his violin was far too creepily reminiscent of a scene from a Holocaust film for me to think of anything else and, frankly, I forgot all about you, Abraham. Sorry about that.

I was looking through some old photos tonight and, lo and behold, I came upon yours. I may not know how to contact you, but I do know that your name is Abraham Domathoti, and you were from Cumming, GA. I know this because – praise God – I took your picture on my high-res Nikon and you had your nametag facing forward. So please, if you still want your photos, contact me!

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