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Death followed Martin around like a shadow. It was there on the commute to work, on the opposite chair at the cafeteria and during his weekly tennis game. This had been going on for several weeks, when Martin could not take it anymore. He confronted Death head-on.

“Make up your mind, mate,” he said. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I will kill you,” Death let on, “For all men must die.”

But that was all it said.

“When will you kill me?”

“When your time is up.”

“You’re not really helping, mate,” Martin said, slinging his arm around Death’s shoulder. “Look, if you could just give me a fair warning, I could get my testament sorted out. Say goodbye to my loved ones. Maybe cross off a couple of items on my bucket list.”

Death looked Martin in the face, emotionless, and once more, in the same monotone voice, said:…

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