Everyone’s life has gotta end some time, right? Fact of life and all that. Death and taxes. But you hope you have a long and somewhat happy life, or at least that you don’t see it coming. And unless you’re suicidal, you definitely try not to win a Darwin Award by doing something stupid to cut short your own life. Me? I shoulda seen it coming.

Post potters field and pushin’ up posies I post to you these prose post-scripts to my life. It was in the fall. Fairly early in the morning the usual customers were in for their egg whites and thirteen bottomless cups of coffee. I was carrying a full tray of food when a rat ran right ’round my right ankle and up to my wrist. Startled, I slipped on some soup, stopping short of stumbling over Sams stool. After I delivered my load to the young women at table two, I tip-toed away and hoped no one took notice of the tricky rodent. In the kitchen I complained to Kenny, our cook. He clenched a cleaver and said “I can’t cook them all”. Then Betty Bauer bumbled and dropped her bag. Being bored, I bustled over beside her and offered my help. I bent over and bashed my brains out between the bench and bulletin board. Bye-bye baby. So remember, if you wish to be polite, you can even kill yourself with kindness.

Tony’s Ending