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Gabriel Archer & Jack Canaan

Smashwords Edition

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This will be the last thing I will ever write. It's not that I'm out of ideas - I may have too many of them, in fact; it's just that my will to compose has vanished. EYES. Ignore these little outbursts, they'll pop up once in a while. Anyway, even as I sit down to write this, I have all the classic elements of an aspiring writer: a crummy apartment, a steaming cup of instant coffee, a couple of packs of cheap cigarettes, and an overfilled ashtray still smoking from the last butt I didn't really snuff out. To all that add a Colt revolver -- black and slick -- with a single bullet. This equals failure. KIDNEYS. Please do pardon these outbursts, but alas, they are necessary.

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