All riiiight, but I'm trustin' ya here, bud. [Angel presses one hand to his very fluffy chest, eyes wide and earnest.] I'm puttin' my hope of not bein' sober in your hands. Better not lead me astray.

Ehh, everyone inna small town's an asshole. Make ya sign some kinda asshole agreement when ya move in, I'll bet. [A beat, then:] Ya said ya can die here? Again?