"Why? Why do you smoke those... cancer sticks!?" He asked. She looked at him with a small smile. "Cancer sticks, death match, smokes, cigarettes, the list goes on. Call them what you like." She laughed. "You didn't answer!" He cried. Angry and desperate to know why. She looked up at the midnight sky as her face lost all humor... "You call 'em whatever you want... but to me these are my bullets and my pills... I call them my slow suicide."
