Donny panhandles long enough to get 5 more bucks. With sufficient funds, Donny buys a mickey bottle of Vodka. It is the cheap stuff, which ironically enough, will most likely get him even more wasted. Also on the shopping list are a Bic lighter, a tube of superglue, and some gauze. Donny doesn't even have enough change left over to buy a pack of gum.
    Donny sits beneath the gazebo, with his back bent to allow his head enough room. In one hand, he holds the knife. In the other, the roll of gauze. Did he really want to die? He thought about Buresh's words. What was the point of patching himself up if he intended to meet his demise regardless? Could Donny be happy? Was it possible to change? It was a bad death to rot away. Buresh's brother had met a similar end. Donny thought of his father Ronald, struggling against the cruel scythe of the grim reaper. Ronald had fought with every cell in his body, including the carcinogenic ones. Ronald had certainly wanted to live. Could Donny pack it in so easily? No, not yet. If Donny had an ideal choice for suicide, it would be a shotgun, or pills. The infection must be remedied. He would live, for now.
    Self-mutilation comes easy for Donny. He heats up the blade of his swiss army knife using the lighter. Sprinkling a bit of vodka on the hot metal concludes his disinfection. Having drained half the bottle of cheap alcohol, Donny gets to it. With morbid fascination, Donny jabs the blade into his inflamed elbow. He is careful not to hit bone, only the bulge of liquid. The pus oozes out, a disgusting yellow brown deluge. It is like popping a huge zit. Donny uses his hand to press the swollen sides of the cut, making more pus snake its way through. The fluid is thick, but runny. The sour bitterness of the smell hits him and Donnie gags. A puddle of pus has gathered on the cement where his lancing happened. Eventually, only thick red blood streams from the cut, and Donny stops.
    He splashes the cut with the vodka and hisses. It burns a few moments before he acclimates to the pain. Coating the cut with superglue, he presses his flaps of skin together with tremendous force. When he takes his hand away, the wound is closed. His fingertips get stuck temporarily, but he pulls them free. Not bad. It was a whole hell of a lot easier than stitching with fishing filament. After the procedure is complete, Donny wraps his elbow heavily in the bandage.
    The inexpensive alcohol is hard to ingest without a chaser, but Donny manages. He sips on the vodka until he is sufficiently blitzed, then falls into sleep.