The pill that sat in Doc’s hand was as two sided as a coin. The top was a heavy blue dome, the curving underbelly was yellow. They were separated from each other by a thin red line.

My eyes flicked from the pill to Doc’s eyes. “How much?”

He smiled and made the pill disappear with a wave of his hand. “Is there a price to not killing yourself?”

“Look, I’m not fucking around. Suicide frees me from everything and then you get nothing. If you get me to feel better, then you have a customer until I die.”

“True.” The drug dealer tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Alright I’m open to ideas but this shit is expensive.”

“I-I know but when your life is worth nothing it’s hard to justify.”

“How about two dollars a day?”

I did the math and came out to seven-hundred and thirty dollars. That seemed . . . reasonable.

“Up front.” Doc added.

I raised my eyebrows. “Is the first one free?”

“Not for this. It might give you enough energy to actually kill yourself and then where would I be?”

“Friendless?”

“Ha, fuck you.”