Depressed, Gordo looked at the razor blade and shuttered. He contemplated suicide time and again throughout the past two days, but couldn’t find a way that suited him.
“Freakin’ gun’s too messy,” he told himself. Besides, Gordo didn’t have one.
Plummeting to his death made his hands sweat, knees quake and stomach churn. Gordo even examined the various kinds of rope at the hardware store.
“Doesn’t anyone make a good old-fashioned hemp rope anymore?” he observed.
As he left the store, Gordo caught the scent of cooking food. He hadn’t eaten in the last 24-hours and the smell nearly overwhelmed him.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed, “Death by food.”
For the next hour Gordo ventured from one diner to another, looking for his piest de resistance. “A man’s gotta eat,” he proffered, “What happens afterward, well that’s not up to me.”
Gordo smile, “One order of Thai peanut sauce prawn’s to go, please.”
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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