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.