One of our former co-workers died recently.
Me, hugging Austin: I don’t want you to die until after I’m already gone.
Austin: Then you want me to be alone.
Me: No. I want you to die shortly after me.
Austin: I’ll be ripped apart by wolves.
Me: Then you can be with me. And Mom will be there.
Austin: I don’t know about that. If I’m ripped apart by wolves, I might not look that great.
Me: You don’t look that great now.
Austin: Thanks. I hope you die of explosive diarrhea.
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