"Fuck this life for a lark," he said, before drowning his sorrows with a bottle in the dark. "If no one wants me anywhere else, then why shouldn't I be here guessing at the strength of my belt? As if I'd ever ask for any body's help, as if anyone ever cared how any sad person actually felt."
He took his bottle and held it up to the moon, Spotify played yet another droning, melancholy tune.
"Do you know the one thing that would make me happy?" he asked. "Neither do I." and from consciousness he passed.