Being The Survivor Stinks.

You Do Right By Me, I'll Show You A Life Most Suckers Can't Even Dream Of.

All Right. Let's Give You Something To Tell Your Grandkids About. Or Great-grandkids. Or Great-great-grandkids." I Snort With Glee, Delirious With Excitement. Charlie Winks And Pours Me Another Finger's Worth Of Whiskey. Then, On Second Thought, He Tips The Bottle Again. I Reach Out And Grab Its Neck. "better Not," I Say. "don't Want To Get Tipsy And Break A Hip.

I Roll Onto My Side And Stare Out The Venetian Blinds At The Blue Sky Beyond. After A Few Minutes I'm Lulled Into A Sort Of Peace. The Sky, The Sky--same As It Always Was.

The Thought Has Cheered Me, And I'd Like To Hang Onto That. Must Protect My Little Pockets Of Happiness.

At This Moment, The Story In His Head Was Perfect. He Also Knew From Experience That It Would Degenerate The Second He Started Typing, Because Such Was The Nature Of Writing.