The smell of death burns through the air like stale cigarettes. The sound of death to me, is now that of the dinging and beeps that would float through the air at a carnival. The loud bell that rings when you've filled the balloon up with just the right amount of air...

And it pops

The bottle of whiskey was empty. He'd been sober for years. The pills were neatly packed in a bag. The cat was left with just enough food to last.

The note he left, the coroner took...

And we all stand around, whispering thoughts of possibilities.

The one bike in the hallway was his. The other one... no one knew. The green car on the street was his. Empty coffee cups remained stacked in the cup holder between the seats, an empty grocery store bag on the floor...

What is it that goes through your head those last moments?

Turn the cell phone on.
Feed the cat.
Unlock the door.
Leave a note. . .

hope for the best.

RIP