I watch you wash a handful of sleeping pills down with whiskey and know you’ll wake in the morning, half-dead but still half-alive. I watch you pick fights in bars and know you’ll bleed and break and bruise but live to get the shit beaten out of you another day. I watch you dance every dance with death you can and yet always make it home at the end of the night. You think you’ve been stiffed, stood up, that even death doesn’t want someone like you, but you’re wrong. You above all are beloved of death, and yours is written in blood, in bone, in the very workings of the universe. You will know your death by the darkness of his eyes and the mercy of his blade – until then, abide. Your time approaches.