“Are you afraid to die?” He lit up his one-hitter, sucked in the cannabis, and slowly exhaled, the smoke billowing out of his mouth, over the fence, and into the neighboring courtyards. I could see him ruminating over the question. “I’m not,” he responded sincerely. “I had a great life . . . I’m scared of what the end looks like. But I’m not afraid of dying.” He then added, “Promise me you won’t let me die in a hospital.” I took a beat to allow my heart to finish shattering into a million pieces before responding steadfastly, “I promise.” “And please look after my parents,” he continued. “I’m
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