Choose poly-syllabic compilations of alpha-numeric characters arranged in such a manner so that their phonetic summations'd convey a common thought. A thought which, in and of itself, is nothing more than an electrical impulse ricocheting about a lump of slowly dying brain tissue in a desperate attempt to justify an otherwise meaningless existence.

Choose watching the tip of your 5th cigarette in the last 30 minutes smolder like the debris around you and finding your only comfort in having played your hand in its destruction.

CHOOSE DEAD FRIENDS.

Choose drinking yourself to sleep, wondering if God will ever forgive you for the things that you have done.

Choose life at the bottom of a bottle.

Choose a .45 cal retirement plan.

At the end of it all, when all is said and done, when you're near black on ammunition and your position is over-ran, choose to go out with a bang.

Choose one last night at the opera.