“It might, depending on what the new thing is. For instance, if I decided I wanted to try being a drug mule for the cartel. But in transit, the balloon filled with rock cocaine I have shoved up my ass bursts, and I overdose, writhing on the floor and biting off my tongue. It could very well kill me.” Samson has paused his movements in pouring my drink to stare at me, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “That seems a little dramatic.”
