[The sun's setting on the crumbling stones of a graveyard, and Al strolls through the graves, slow and steady, before crouching before one. He reaches out with gloved fingers, his breath puffing past his face in a soft, visible cloud, before he shuts his eyes as he touches the surface of the stone
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[It doesn't seem to cause him any pain to talk about it. Instead, he sounds wistful.]
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Certain people probably aren't quite as lucky.
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I'm not going home until every single last one of my friends does.
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I really hope you can stay here that long.
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'Course if I stay here that long, I'll be an old granny in no time. If I know anything, it doesn't do any good regretting what you can't change. So I ain't gonna.
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