Tar

He has to do something, so he ends up googling brand names because he has no idea what to ask for.  He walks down to the twenty-four hour convenience at the corner and gets a pack of du Maurier Distinct.  He looks like an idiot handing over his license; the guy didn’t even ask for ID.

This is the way he’s going to kill himself: by degrees.

He can’t even light the thing at first, and when he does he starts coughing almost immediately.  The world spins, which is what he wants.  Then he throws up in somebody’s bushes.

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