You grab the vodka bottle that’s conveniently already opened and sitting on your kitchen counter. It looks like it has a few ounces left in it still.
You pour yourself a drink as you scroll through the list of contacts on your phone.
You must know at least one lawyer, right?
Hmmm, you decide to call your dad’s best friend, though he retired a few years back. He was a lawyer. Or at least an accountant. Surely he’d at least be able to give you some advice.
The phone starts to ring.
“Hello?” a voice says on the other end.
You hang up in a panic.
What are you thinking? You have no assets to bequeath. Hell, you probably owe friends and family more money than you actually have in your savings account. Even if your dad’s friend was a practicing lawyer, you probably couldn’t have afforded that call.
The thought instantly depresses you.
You text your work sort-of-friend—Jesus, even your work friends aren’t friends—to tell everyone you’re sick, really sick. It might not fly, but what does it fucking matter, you’re going to die soon. Alone.
On the plus side, there are at least a few ounces left in that vodka bottle…