I walk onto the dark balcony and feel the warm Florida air hug me like an old friend. I creep over to the edge and look down. Fear sets in. It’s late. But I text my best guy friend back home and ask him if he thinks I’ll die from four stories up if I decide to jump. Without missing a beat he writes back and says I may survive the fall. With that information in tow, I sit back in my Tommy Bahama beach chair and kill my self slowly, by lighting a Marlboro Light.