NEW YORK TIMES: He was warned the journey north would be hard, so Gilmar Morales beefed up on eggs and sausage, bought some ham sandwiches from the bodega across the street, told his mother he loved her and set off with two other relatives on a path well-traveled by young people here in one of Latin America’s poorest countries. Then, a few weeks later his mother, watching a television news show, looked hard at a picture of the bodies of 72 Central and South American migrants killed last week in northeast Mexico near the Texas border. Was that Gilmar, the one with the familiar yellow-and-white striped T-shirt, his blue pants?
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