“How shall I begin my last letter to my dear friends?” Bora asked. He shook his head solemnly. “Should I start with ‘I died in a house that still exists’? What if it gets torn down later? Then it’s a lie. Man, how to people do this?” ​ You kept trying to tell him that he was just sick but he continued to pretend like he was going to die from this illness. He was bundled in blankets and was rambling on about who he thinks the will should go to while you just held out a box of tissues to him. He occasionally took a tissue because his nose was running from being sick.