Canadian whisky enthusiast

04/19/2026

streetcleaner

street sweeper day in chippawa is a bitter holiday for me. i always get anxious this time of year when the leaves and debris builds up in my gutter and the missus pressures me get out of the house and go sweep up the gravel and dashed beer cans off the curb. i need to empty the pool and all that flushing water will push dried leaves and the empty vodka mickey into the sewer grate.

i blame the kids, as i always do for leaving booze containers in front of our house, it’s practically victimless and it’s easy to believe, considering i probably left a couple in front of that house when i was a kid. children: natures scapegoat. i remember the days of my innocence when the local villagers threatened to congregate on us with makeshift clubs and don balaclavas to enforce some street justice on us for smoking w**d and loudly kicking a hackey sack in the public parks. however it was probably the afternoon i watched a local teenage boy get shoved through a basement apartment window while a family was trying to enjoy dinner that finally urged the locals to lose it.

‘get some sun, it’ll be good for you’ she tells me. so, i’ll put down my pipe, and press my finger into whatever smouldering hash i was enjoying to extinguish it. probably shouldn’t be smoking in the house anyways. i have a collection of every niagara review newspaper stacked in my office since 1995 and one spark would turn my entire house to ash. it’s not sick, i need those newspapers.

so, i’ll head upstairs and dig through the drawers for my black sweatpants. no, not the black sweatpants. those are the good sweatpants. i can’t do yard work in those. what if we have a wedding coming up? i’ll regret dirtying those.

outside and digging around the garage I find the push broom and an old hockey stick with the wooden blade cut off. it’s a great tool for scraping leaves away from the curb so when i flush my pool out the water follows a path and makes a stream to the sewer without flushing discarded preroll containers left by those damn kids. i get down to the corner and start pushing leaves away from a sewer grate so the pool water can flow in easily. last year the neighbour across the street blamed me for flooding his basement because i dumped so much water in the sewer. now, i’ll just wait until night time to run that water and he can wake up to a flooded basement instead. once he wakes up and finds waste water in his lower level he’ll come upstairs to look outside and realize i’ve been draining my pool. he’ll probably get upset and come pound on my door, but it’ll be around 7:30am and he might know i’ve been draining my pool, but he has no idea that i’m already 11 beers deep and i’ve been huffing gold paint through an old sweat sock. he certainly won’t know that i’ve spent the last two hours fighting hallucinations of a childhood pet strangling me with a scarf. oh yes, i’d love to talk about that pool water.

in my old age i’m not able to go busting my knuckles on somebody’s face anymore. a solid connection and my fingers tend to snap, my hands crack open and my wrist will sprain. it’s not easy to explain your innocence with dried blood browning on your fingernails. with age though ive gained wisdom, and it has taught me to emphasize terror in my attack, rather than brute force. a couple years ago i had yanked a driver from his vehicle and started chopping his ankle with a stop sign i had ripped out from the ground. it’s one thing to catch a shot in the chops, but to think a wild eyed lunatic with a street sign is going to sever your foot at the joint? that vision stays with you forever.

but this is not fair. now i’m plotting to taunt and hunt this man. he hasn’t threatened me. in hindsight my pool water didn’t flood his basement. he was just frustrated that he had suffered a flood and was trying to understand why. toying with this man while my mind is scrambled with chemical hallucinations and writhing in bats**t is not sound. sound, hmm, sound like the sound of the humming of a street sweeper coming down the street just 10 minutes after i went out and swept gravel, leaves and some empty quetiapine vials left by those fu***ng kids. yes, this happens every year. i go sweep the gutter and that street sweeper makes its appearance immediately after. street sweeper day in chippawa is a bitter holiday. looking back, maybe last year was better, maybe 2025 WAS my year. just like this 2025 release of red letter

Alc. 45%

Nose:
Eggnog, cream and dry oak. Green apple and corn. Dry and woody nose. After significant decanting the dry notes give way to sweeter treats, like sweet tart candies. The corn starts to sweeten

Palate:
Sweet and thick, cream corn middle, pastel candy and a bit of sour rye. spice. Finished off with dry oak, a charred finish that lingers and black pepper.

Overall:
Pleasant after quite a bit of airing out. Do not rush this one, but be ready to let this glass sit out for 20 minutes to half an hour before really enjoying.
Anyone familiar with Wisers blends should recognize the creamy palate and the sweet tart candies.

08/08/2021

wisers red letter 2020 release



the problem with grocery stores: chippawa and punishment



i guess strange things never really take a break in the news and heres a recent example: in the early summer a lobster fisherman was coming up to the surface when suddenly, his vision went black. he took a moment to wonder if he had died in the water, then realized that not only was he still alive, but swallowed by a humpback whale.

he was not injured, but he was about to be swallowed and dissolved by the whales stomach acid, so he held on and thrashed about, causing the whale to surface and spit him out, surviving the whole incident with a cool story to tell the grandkids.

and whenever near tragedy strikes our news in a humorous way, we often hear that the producers of p**nographic movies tend to approach these survivors and try to make a few bucks making a skin flick parodying the event and giving it some stupid title. although ‘the man that was swallowed whole’ was flattered, he turned down his opportunity in p**n because he was so loyal to his lovely wife. the same producer ran the idea passed some of his female cast that he might introduce a whale into the film and four of them quit on the spot, one turned to the catholic church and another went mad, burned her hair off and s**t naked in the streets.

and speaking of giant dicks nobody has any use for, connor mc gregor did something very unusual for an irishmen; he punched an innocent person over a shot of whisky in a pub.

one night a man was in a pub, enjoying a drink with a friend when mr mc gregor came in and offered the bar a round of shots from his whisky brand, proper 12. one person declined and was subsequently punched by conor. the man left with a swollen head and is also banned from re entering the bar, for life, because conor mc gregor then bought the pub and banished the man he punched.

speaking of getting kicked out of places for being harassed and assaulted, i'm still waiting for my official restraining order (wrongfully)barring me from entering the only grocery store in chippawa after publicly threatening to decapitate one of their employees. further, i had posted an experience i had in the grocery store and shared it on one of our chippawa pages to defend my stance. as you're about to see, i am an innocent man, just trying to buy jello to make edible drugs that are attractive to children when a couple of guys were up to no good and started making trouble in my neighborhood grocery store. so please read our local chippawa news delivered by the eyewitness, victim and chippawas top freelance journalist, me.

i was in foodland just a couple days ago. i walked down an aisle fairly quickly, because i'm still young, able, and incredibly fit. i arrived at the checkout just before a couple beside me and i offered that they go ahead of me.

as they sauntered ahead, the man in the couple turned and pointed at my shirt. now, what i have in common with most of the fine, beautiful citizens of chippawa is that i, just like you, wear shirts. we all wear shirts. it's what bonds us as chippawanians. shirts. i happen to be wearing my hartford whalers shirt. it's grey and has a green W on it.

the man stretched his arm toward me and pointed a crusty, arthritic finger at my shirt and said something derogatory about how i shouldn't be allowed in the store wearing a grey shirt with a green W on it. without addressing his aggression, i smiled and said 'as long as i don't have a shirt with a blue leaf on it, i'm sure we can all get along just fine, right?' and i reassured my friendliness with a quiet chuckle.

well, apparently he happens to like shirts with giant blue leaves on the front of them as this man started telling me about how in his day he would've beaten the snot out of me because he likes shirts with blue leaves and i like shirts with green W's. the man's female company pulled him by the shirt into their aisle so they could quickly go home and eat cold ravioli out of the can and drink cheap gin until the night ends in a police officer breaking up a domestic dispute on the front lawn of their hovel, adorned with recycling boxes left out for four days.

naturally, with my god given upper body strength and massive quads i could have pulled myself on top of the ice machine left handed and jumped on top of his head until he stood 2 and a half feet tall. instead, i selected the aisle adjacent to them and spent my last three minutes in the store speaking to the friendly blonde cashier about how kit-kats are the superior snacking candy compared to rolos. she disagreed and i could have effortlessly decapitated her with a bag of ice, but i was raised to accept that people have diverse opinions and i should respect their choices. i wouldn't even care if she liked shirts with blue leaves on the front.

now, just to conclude, i'm very sorry i can't post a feel good story about how the guy ahead of me paid for my coffee, or how i donated empties to the legion, but this actually happened and i found it strange for chippawa. i'm usually overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers in my lovely village and i was slightly shocked that a four-nippled, french-canadian, half-measure of a man with a stupid hair cut wanted to exchange punches about a tall, physically exceptional, kinda stoned, fantastically good looking man wearing a grey shirt with a green W on it. but, i turn the other cheek and i gobbless him.

and happy new year to you all. gobbless.

and that’s the story. to keep you guys up to date, I have walked into the foodland quite belligerent and inebriated in order to purchase more alcohol, so im guessing ill be ok to go in and avoid being arrested, but it doesn’t excuse the fact that the lcbo wont be carrying the newest version of red letter from wisers. Besides, red letter is only available to buy from the distillery.



alc. 45%

nose:
this is the definition of a creamy vanilla nose. creamy corn, corn cob, mint leaves and gummy mint drops. egg nog. this is clean, round, heavy and thick with honey, yellow corn and a vanilla bomb. cigar to***co, vanilla frosting, and rye all cased in with the right amount of charred wood. honeycomb and roasted nuts. the liquid itself has weight and thickness. it has presence in the glass.

palate:
the entry is corn and vanilla, then comes darker brown notes, root beer, cola, molasses, baking spice, honey. big corn, vanilla and spice, a touch of dill. mint gummies, bright red berries, sweet tarts and a prickly, tannic oak finish that hangs on. the oak is appropriate throughout until the end where it turns up to a hot/sweet ginger. the texture is perfect. the flavour is heavy, creamy and soft on the edges, cohesive until the spicy end, which stops before it becomes too hot.

overall: 96
very familiar to the big corn whiskies of canadian legend: canadian rockies, cc 40, ninety 20, but this is very well done. dialed in and honed to a very deliberate point.

this is what a 100$ bottle is. this is the satisfaction a bottle should bring a rye lover.

please note:

a distillery only release, only available to ontario residents.

as opposed to earlier versions of red letter, this is a 15 year old blend, finished in virgin barrels for 150 days.

06/20/2021

Wisers 15 year old

122 days of fear: surviving a summer with the gardena watering system

in the news, one mexican drug cartel in particular has made ripples for declaring war on the mexican elite drug enforcement team. they have stepped forward and announced that for every cartel member, mule, runner, manufacturer, etc, essentially anybody in their team that gets arrested or captured, the cartel will kill 2 officers.

scary.

more so, since the elite mexican cartels are very well organized and surrounded by corrupt officials, they also have their finger on the pulse of the police force. not only do they have advanced knowledge of raids or busts, but they have the - personal home addresses - of the police officers. members of the cartel are storming into officers homes, binding the officer and their family(kids too) and torturing them to death, dismembering, disemboweling, decapitating, then displaying the desecrated corpses in public as a show of force. it is very common for a couple dozen decapitated heads to roll into a busy nightclub as a show of force in contested cartel territory.

if your mommy or daddy is a cop the bad man will kidnap you at school and systematically cut your fingers off with garden sheers, on film, to display to the family while they physically torture the cop themselves, effectively adding psychological terror to physical punishment.

hows that for a lead, eh? speaking of being attacked in our homes, recently in chippawa news, an individual or small group of organized chippawanians have hijacked our pages and stirred up a little chaos themselves. i have yet to identify this person or people, but occasionally they flood and overwhelm our feeds with insane and offensive content. they work as a team and pick out certain folks that are regular chippawa FB personalities. their profiles all share the same persons name, and they all have odd pictures of mazda miatas(on fire, toy cars, demolished, etc) and they all call themselves the admin and threaten to ban anybody who questions them. there's also a lot of lowbrow cm jokes.

very strange stuff, these digital facebook assaults, but, they're simply doing gods work. i can't help feel like they've almost taken our team's lead and harassed the citizens of chippawa in their own homes, using my own methods of antagonizing. after digesting all that mumbo jumbo, i decided it's probably time to put the phone down and go outside.

but hey, the warm weather is here and that means that it's time for my gardens to become a priority on my list of chores. it's a lot of hard work to maintain a front garden, an herb garden, my black currant garden and then head down the road to my big vegetable garden, where i have to carry large buckets of rain water to feed my plants. it's hard work. there's a lot of lifting, raking, shoveling, lugging and tugging.

luckily, last year for father's day my wife had picked up a miracle watering system; the gardena watering system. it's supposed to make the crushing reality that you're a middle aged man on the verge of an exertion heart attack less likely, due to its advanced technology. it makes all items fitted with gardena products universal and easy to attach and remove hoses and accessories. the steps are pretty easy, just use some garden sheers to systematically cut the threaded ends off your hose and attach a cinch/clamp that adapts a universal male/female connection. you can just snap all sorts of things on and off in a second, even less time than a second. but, in reality the homewares elite have declared war on your shed: the cinch/clamp doesn't always fit so snug, so it comes loose, then falls off after a little use, which often means that you have a heavy flowing stream of water gushing out of your external faucet, wasting water and soaking your houses foundation. it'll also be on the other end of your hose, 100 feet away, effectively adding psychological terror to physical punishment.

so, now you see the one small error when using the gardena water system; it's faulty and YOU JUST CUT THE THREADS OFF YOUR FU***NG HOSE. YOU IDIOT. YOU FU***NG IDIOT!! YOU JUST CUT THE THREADS OFF YOUR FU***NG HOSE AND NOW YOU CANT WATER S**T, BUD. oh, just go get another hose? we're in fu***ng lockdown stupid. you fu***ng stupid idiot simpleton turd. LOCKDOWN. you cant just go get another fu***ng hose. you have to order it, curbside pick it up, or maybe amazon it. it's days away and you need to water those plants today chief, but you cut the ends off your fu***ng hose, and now you have to get another and since gardena is an organized company, surrounded by corrupt corporations, they have their finger on the pulse of watering systems, youre forced to buy their product again. worse, since you had to order it from amazon, they now have your - personal home address - as well as email and they have the ability to storm your personal life and digitally harass you. this, this must be some form of gods work.

there's a reason companies don't associate 'quit smoking' pills with ex-wrestlers anymore and it's the same reason they won't associate our team with the gardena watering system; because after using the gardena watering system i fear for my families safety. if there were a venn diagram of people who use the gardena watering system/people you should fear, it would be a perfect circle. after years of abstaining from ci******es im back to a pack a day. the gardena watering system deliberately makes you compromise your hose, only to monopolize the necessity for a new hose, because its non-compatible. non-compatible! i was apoplectic. apoplectic! i was so angry i didn't s**t solid for a week. now, i'm in physio, regularly practicing re**al keigels to strengthen my butt, so angry fart water doesn't just fall into my shorts whenever i see a row of shrubs.

now, you might think it's the second life for hose repair, if you get a hole in your hose you can just shorten it and attach the cinch/clamp on to save the rest of your hose, and that's smart thinking. on the other hand you just went out and spent money on a faulty watering system that's going to blow the end of off that fu**er and start flooding your backyard before you sprint the 83 feet to get back to the faucet, because it's non-compatible YOU GOD DAMN CAVEMAN. YOU JUST SPENT MORE MONEY ON A PLASTIC PIECE OF S**T THATS GOING TO CAUSE YOUR DIVORCE. worse, is that after all that you still have to go get a new hose, doubling your trips, and expenditures, and common people are debating capitalizing pharmaceutical companies for making profit off the covid vaccine and you're out buying TWO NEW NON ESSENTIAL HOSES YOU FU***NG F**K. essentially, for every gardena water system, accessory, attachment, clamp, etc, you capture, they will kill two of your hoses. ok, look, perhaps i'm just a little high strung since my wife got me this thing. it's been a nightmare. this year my wife bought me a brand new hose, a gardena brand hose, already fitted with gardena accessories. since they're factory assembled they won't fall apart. thing is, this hose is only 50 feet long, so i can't even walk it out front far enough to WATER MY OWN GARDEN, ahem.... so i don't have to get frustrated wrestling with it. win/win. this father's day, just get your dad what he needs: booze. besides, you what has booze in it? wisers 15 year old, that’s what.

Alc. 40%

Nose:
The egg nog, nutmeg, dusty toffee and rye spice are reminiscent of wisers older brother, the 18 year old. Sweet and spicy, full of yellow stone fruits, orange gummies, sawdust and dry wood. Lumberyard. Artificial coconut, lacquer and ginger bread.

Palate:
Effervescent, tingles on the tongue with sweet ginger ale, dusty toffee, orange peel, sour rye grains, beer, fresh sawdust, although, unfortunately light on the palate. Rotting apples, dark berries, balanced wood spice and leaves with pleasant bitter citrus pith and mint, adding to the complexity of this whisky. non-evolving, but this slips down the throat very smoothly.

Overall: 87
Very good. No gimmicks.

06/13/2021

05/30/2021

depressing beer review - double up! espresso dark stout

we only have so many days

the question always distills down to 'when your body becomes old with age after living a full life, would you rather lose your body or your mind?' would you rather remain sharp but lose your ability to run, jump, walk, hug, serve a loved one, feed yourself, or even clean yourself? or would you rather remain completely mobile, if not a bit slower, and slowly lose your own ability to think for yourself, communicate, retain memory, recognize faces, understand where you are in a room?

either decision doesn't matter: it is not a decision you get to make.

recently i have discovered an ambitious musical performance that walks a person through the stages of dementia. many, many great experiences in my life revolve around music, but this one has shaken me to my core and broken me down to a blubbering baby, unable to regulate my handle of emotion. this album made me cry and it even went so far into my psyche to awaken old childhood fears.

the six albums in this compilation represent six stages of decline with dementia. there are no words, except what is described in the liner notes along the artwork on the album. the song titles tell an ambiguous story, which helps piece together what the artist is presenting; that you are hearing a musical interpretation of dementia. the artwork on the album covers even seem to shift and degrade as the project spins downward into an inevitable heartbreak. in total, this is a completely immersive 6 1/2 hour project. if you'd like to follow along check out the album 'everywhere at the end of time' by the caretaker.

stage 1: i've just heard from the doctor that i have dementia. the brain will degrade and fail, but i don't believe it; everything's fine. where did i put my glasses? in the cupboard? aah that's silly, must have been distracted. ha.

a vinyl record crackles on the turntable as some golden era ballroom music plays. swaying horns, tinkling piano keys and fun rhythm helps recall the good ol days, when times were simple.

nothing really seems wrong at this point. the music is crisp and clear, aside from a few crackles and pops from a dusty vinyl record.

stage 2: those darn glasses ended up getting lost again. i typically put them in the same spot, but i've checked it twice, right? better check again. oops, they've been there the whole time.

dust has settled into some cracks on the record and the crackling is still there, a little louder, but the record still plays just fine. listen to those horns! beautiful harmonies.... didn't we just hear that song? nah, i just love that song so much, i thought it already played.

the songs played tend to repeat a little from the previous album, with a little reverberation, or echo of the last note. this represents the patient remembering the music of the good ol days, maybe not exactly as it was, but it's a pretty good recollection. at one point a song ended abruptly and unexpectedly. i found myself speaking to the radio speakers and pleading 'no, not yet. don't start messing up the memory of the song, please, i still have time.'

stage 3: a nice man drove me back home while my wife is tapping her toe on the driveway. she looks upset. what are they talking about? what? i'm confused? why would they say that? i wasn't lost! i was just out for a walk when the nice gentleman offered me a ride back home.

the songs played and replayed from the first two albums are still playing. the echo and reverberation is enhanced, very strong, lots of crackle. at some points the songs end very peacefully and taper off to a slow fade before drifting back in to a new song, or sometimes the song ends too quickly, mid-note and crashes into the next song which sounds like it started 4 seconds ago. sometimes elements of two songs are mashed together and play at the same time. often twinkling piano keys make a serene feeling of calm, just before turning to a haunting echo chamber, giving the listener a little treat before punishing them with spooky fright.

is this how it always was? is this just how it is to be remembered?

stage 4: since i've been moved into this new resort i see a few people i remember. my wife comes by often, and a couple other people i don't remember keep coming by and asking if i'm ok, asking if i'm enjoying the food or getting along with my new friends that live here. i don't really know them, but they're pleasant. this retirement home living isn't so bad after all.

the album structure has switched from an album built from 45 minutes of many 5 minute long tracks to a structure of 90 minute albums, cut into 4 tracks, or songs. the genre of music used has switched from ballroom dance music to white noise, dark ambient noise, harsh noise and drone. the sound heard is like frantically tuning into an old fm radio and finding it in tune, only before the frequency is lost again. the long tracks are frightening and confusing, grasping at little bits of clarity(representing moments of lucidity) before losing the grasp and the music cannot be found in tune again. at one point piano keys fall like dominos and give a warm feeling of peace, which is calming and lasts 20 minutes, before throwing the listener back into harsh regurgitated noise.

this is called post awareness confusion. the dementia patient no longer has lucidity or control of their own thoughts and memories. this is a very frightening time for the patient, to forget where they are, many, many times in a day. fright turns to confusion and fear, and eventually isolation

stage 5: every minute is a living nightmare. strange people push me into a chair, strip my clothes off, wipe me with a wet cloth, dress me. they don't talk to me, they talk to each other and force spoonfuls of cold or hot liquid into my mouth. people i don't know surround me. i want to be home again. i'm frightened. i'm unsure. i don't know what i've done to deserve this.

more static, more loss of stable sound, more crackle, further degradation of any recognizable instrument. if there were any recognizable moments of clarity it would be the theme for the wicked witch of the west played while you are alone in a forest, the sun is about to disappear and you can see pairs of green eyes with slit predatory pupils through the trees.

patient is past any hope. their mind is in a desperate struggle to comprehend their surroundings. tracks are titled 'a confusing fog so thick you forget forgetting' and 'advanced plaque entanglements'

stage 6: i am underwater. no one hears a single word i say.

the final album is simply 84 minutes of dark ambient noise. a constant down tuned humming, intense vinyl crackle and a very murky horn plays a stretched tone for minutes at a time. it's sounds as if the patient is completely submerged. there is no structure. there is no light. death is mercy. after 84 minutes of brutal, self punishment, a clear 5 minutes of choir singing. is it the last thought remembered? or is it the ascension to heaven? the singing stops. the white noise stops. the crackle stops. 60 seconds of complete silence.

long decline is over.

place in the world fades away.

alc. 6.5%

nose:
dark, roasted malt, a bit sour, coffee. artificial coffee sensation. dashes of espresso and cream. a whiff of sour vanilla.

palate:
full, mouthfilling palate rich with coffee/espresso flavour and a taste of powdered milk. roasted malt, some sourness, but the beer is overpowered with sweet/sour coffee and artificial dairy.

overall:
i will not be buying this again

please note:
the album is from the caretaker. it is titled 'everywhere at the end of time' it can be found on youtube, or bandcamp.

as a strong recommendation, i plead with you to only listen to this project if you are in a solid mental space, or usually unaffected by music, or mental health issues. the ending of the album forced me to tears on a couple occasions and rekindled my fear of the dark, something i had not experienced since childhood.

05/23/2021

cwe failures: useless/incomplete/disconnected/delete

sometimes we f**k up. sometimes we get a great idea but fail to capitalize on it, just like this article based entirely on black sabbath. in short, here's half a crappy article.

fluff

one day a buddy of mine took me to go get stoned. he pointed to a little forest, and he said 'i know a spot' and he took me to this tiny oasis: a small patch of trees, an old dilapidated mill, set on a hard road built by a spiral architect, a scum covered swamp, the sun barely peeking through a hole in the sky. didn't sound great from the description, but it was a classic spot to smoke.

we finished up when it started to rain a bit and we heard an old church bell in the distance. 'better go now, we'll get soaked. let's make sure we don't start, too late.' i nodded and we headed out. when we passed a giant brick wall, with 'sleep' sprayed in paint on the side, i spotted a woman in a black cloak. a loner? an evil woman? no. couldn't be. i walked to talk to her but she disappeared. she's gone. it was as if she was never there. 'am i going insane?' i thought to myself.

a day later i went back, and peered behind the wall of sleep into the sleeping village to look for the woman. she stood by her lonesome, staring into the void of the green pond.

------

the relationship started as any other, and soon we were in love. i was to marry the lady, lucy. the wedding was fabulous, and grand. we ate rat salad, and wore red pants. the guests included a sword wielding dwarf, and some fairies, wearing boots(her side of the family).

she bore 5 children; william, john, tony and giza. ronnie, the runt of the children passed away very early in life. now he watches us, perched on a silver mountain. oh how we loved each other as a family for many years. the boys all learned to play instruments and started a band to pass the time.

as time went on i was going through changes. my sight grew dim, i felt as if i were snowblind. i went to my doctor as i fell ill and he told me i was dying, i was living too fast. 'it's the symptom of the universe' he stated. 'son, you've gone too far. smoking and tripping is all that you do.'

'super...... not.' i said with a failing smirk.

as i lay on my death bed, she hovered over me. she pointed a little bit of finger at me and proposed a confession. 'i've been poisoning you. i wanted you to die with me.'

'i know,' i responded. 'i'm only 40. i'm not supposed to die from natural causes yet.

as my body failed, i started to cough. 'a-huh, huh, huh, huh, huh'

lucy, staring down on me, spread her wings.