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"Okay, well, thanks anyways. I'll be here, killing the undead. " Sam said. He hung up and drove for a while longer, until he made it to a village.
Noone was here, excluding an old Babushka. Stepping out, he asked for directions in his Russian. She did nothing but snarl at him, then lunged at him, smashing her fist into Sam's face.
Sam returned the favor with a knife. Then the village came out, they were all the same. He wouldn't be surprised if this was the picture all over Russia.
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Deep thought #1: In the end, everyone dies. No one can outrun time, death itself is always breathing down your neck, just waiting to slip the noose over you. But, in your time of death, what matters is not when or how or even why. What matters is what you do with it. Do you sit down and call it quits, or do you get up, stare your killer and death itself in the face, and laugh copiously, right until the end.
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