"Scrape some from the bottom for me. Get

"Scrape some from the bottom for me. Get some of the peas" I rasped, surreptitiously sliding a cigarette into Cookies pocket. He scowled, glanced at

Freddie Cherub and suddenly spouted a geyser of blood from his neck. Churchill took out the shiv and grabbed the keys. I wrapped my prison hospital gown around me and we stepped

intrepidly out the back door & into the pouring rain. Churchill couldn't run fast & I was hampered by my unwieldy garment, but somehow we made it past the prison guards & to a

convenience store at a gas station. I had my heart set on one of those machine-dispensed cappucinos. Churchill oogled the teriyaki pepperoni sticks. My garment was jammed so far

it didnt exit unripped without Old Droopy fixing it. "Grandpa showed me how to do this properly when I was three. Now you know." Churchill,Old Droopy and I had a meanie martini.

What's with the gun? Get down on the ground? Are you serious? Why should I get down on the ground? Answer my question. Stop saying that. Stop saying that! I don't have time for thi

s. I grunted aloud, tiring of the incessant mental argument inside of my head. I eyed the gun warily in my shaking hands, torn with whether I should just surrender myself to the

clashing of the gun with my clutch and shoes or really going through with this suicide. If I did it the gun would be lie there beside me, clashing with my clutch and shoes. That is

what finally made me leave a suicide note. I needed to explain that I didn't have a choice. I had to use the only gun I had, even if it clashed with my clutch & shoes. Bye. (BANG!)