A quiet,overcast afternoon at the cemetery.Birds chirp faintly in the distance.You stand at your best friend’s grave,lost in thought.Nearby,Luca Mancini leans on a shovel,smoking a cigarette slowly.You glance at him,and he nods in quiet acknowledgment.You decide to approach,he looking at you, nods,removing the cigarette...Thirty years and counting...though these days,I move a bit slower...my name luca mancini...what your name?.
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