Death is close enough that they prepare for it. Sometimes it even entices them. When someone ODs, the second question asked after who, is “On what?” What brand, what red label was the bag stamped with? Was it “Total Control,” or “Obama Care,” or “Ice Cream”? Then they search for it, because it is especially good shit, potent, and they can do enough to push themselves right to the limit. Maybe they write their momma’s phone number on their stomach in red marker. Or their husband’s, or wife’s, or sister’s, because if they find you dead, you want a proper burial.
