Plum

Here is how I died.  Tax forms.  Jammed stapleguns.  Laminated posters, Reduce Your Risk.  A pack a day or a bummed drag behind the building.  Mid February with only a tee shirt on.  A papercut on Monday morning before the big meeting.  An infected flesh wound, down to the bone by Friday.  The boys hide vodka in water bottles out back.  They’ll let me pour some over the cut.  For a price.  Some to drink if I swallow. 

Here is how I died.  A number written on the back of a receipt.  Copy machines.  Jazz music.  They had to take the arm.  That earns me a drink in the warehouse, free of charge.