I drank another Natural Ice and organized my death options.
Skid Row, since it's a terrible place to live, also happens to be a terrific place for killing yourself. The most popular method is to walk into traffic. Simple, cheap, with enough drama attached to convey dignity, and it's usually effective (plus there's the added bonus that if you don't die, serious chronic bodily harm will almost surely get you more extensive disability services). Then there's death by cop. There's overdosing, usually on heroin, which you can get anywhere. Also, throwing yourself out of your window – currently available to me as my rat hole was five stories up.
I had several more beers, and decided to wander out into traffic. I had several more beers after that, as I knew I'd have to get pretty sloppy, or else I'd fuck it up. I knew I'd probably fuck it up anyway, but I now wanted to get super sloppy, as I thought that would ultimately probably hurt less.
YOU ARE READING
THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)
General FictionA suicidal homeless weirdo has adventures. He runs into a duo of dog lovers, who spend their days traveling around the city observing and honoring dogs. Wisdom cannot be run away from. He escapes paradise and falls in love with a strange lady who m...
