Against all advice i went over and had a few drinks. Charred pork chop was the perfume of the conversation, along with gun powder. The .38 snub nose will probably be they way he ends it all. Joe says to me, "I'm just tired of life, ya know?". I do know. It's hard to keep going when you can't see tomorrow as an option. He let off a few rounds carelessly, hit a chair and Lil Smoker from which the charred essence was wafting. He pointed it at me a time or two. I made up an excuse to head home and I got my 9mil, just in case. I notice he's drinking straight Canadian Mist, he says beer just doesn't do it anymore. Dog barks. He stumbles over to the pudgy and rightfully weary animal, wrangles him up and dangles the pug over the searing heat of the smoker. The pint is almost gone as he staggers about the 3x3 concrete pad outside his back door. With the chair now missing a leg, he uses a small table to sit on. "Do you want to get better?" was all i could think to say. The crazy fuck grins like a professional drunk and tells me "No, not really..". 
That's a feeling I can relate to. Life has the purpose of procreation, to perpetuate the species. After that most organisms die, become nutrition for the offspring. We, on the other hand, live longer. In that spare time we are convinced to want and buy things, which requires capital coming from the work we are biding our time with. It gets old. To wake up and know you have to do this for 10, 20, 40 more years is not a great thought. Only thing to look forward to is the events you plan in your mind as a child. Marriage, vacations, hobbies, etc.. Then life happens.
Anyway, the bottle is empty. He tosses it up and in his weakened condition tries to punch it in mid air toward me. Of course it misses. He tells me he needs guidance, I let him know I am  not that guy, I don't do that. Not long after he want to go to the store, the liquor store. I know his condition but I also know I wouldn't want someone trying to stop me from doing what i want to do. I tell him "I'm not here to pass out advice, so if you wanna go lets go. I'm driving!". Half pint of Canadian Mist is the drink Tammy gets off the shelf for him. My phone rings, and i talk to her. I can feel that awkward tension between us. Him wanting comfort, me on the phone. I drive faster and faster. Back in my yard he's deciding between his and my home. At my house he can drink freely, at his house the beach ball with a pulse will nag him to death about drinking. We go inside. Moments later she comes to my door and forces her way in, not even closing it behind her. He leaves with her.