Sullenly, he checked into the motel, the one by the freeway. No noise barrier meant constant noise such that no one could ever hope to sleep, at least not naturally. That was okay; no one came to this place to sleep.

Sitting on the end of the bed, he began his preparations and reconsidered his plan. But what was there to reconsider? He wasn’t happy. But more than that, he’d never been happy. Off drugs and alcohol, leading a productive life he wasn’t happy. Chasing the dragon and boozing it up like there was no tomorrow he hadn’t been happy. Struggling to get by he wasn’t happy, but that was no surprise.

He actually felt a little proud, finally committing to a plan, finding a solution all the counselors and therapists couldn’t or wouldn’t come up with. He bought the solution from a guy in a van down on Miracle Mile. The guy in the van, the scuzzy, law-breaking, foul smelling, pot-marked face, wretch of a man in a van was happy.

It was like life’s last cruel joke. And it was one too many.