"How lucky I am to have somebody like you that makes goodbyes like these so hard?"
"You're gonna make me cry, Adam." Health, declining. Everyone knew. Everyone knew that Mister Murphy was dying. That scar tracing against his neck, the one that gives him a cough and a wheeze when smoke fills the room. It was almost as bad as the series of caved in skin, entry wounds with no exits. They weren't painful. The stories were. Devin dips his head; clearing his throat with minced pain. "Don't think of it as goodbye, then. Just... think of it as see you later. You know I'm not a fan of goodbyes."
