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A Quiet Place In Which to Die
So, this might actually be even more depressing than the dog harakiri thing, but I asked my co-workers how they would prepare for Doomsday and Henry Stewart let it be known that there would be no preparations for him. You see, Henry is a diabetic. So he would not last long at all. Henry told me, "I'm dependent on synthesized medicine. I just need a quiet corner to die in." So if you're in Bay Ridge during Doomsday and you spot a tall, bearded blond man curled up in the fetal position in a solitary corner somewhere, eat some beans for him and take a shot of your alcohol. He was a good man who didn't deserve to die like that. Few of us do. Few of us do.
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