Marvin died a couple weeks ago. Ventricular arrhythmia. Cardiac arrest. He drank and drank until his heart was a flimsy plastic bag full of blood. It stretched and reshaped until its electrical wires were shot, and V-Fib was an inevitability.
Marvin got shocked, and Marvin came back to life. To what life, you may ask? Back to a couple fifths of R&R a day. Back to living in the woods. Back to bed bugs and lice. He returned to the hospital 8 times in a month, flirting with cardiogenic shock each time. Eight times he left against medical advice, opting instead for his own intoxicating brand of medicine.
So Marvin is back in the woods. And Marvin will die again soon, I'm sure of it. Each day he knowingly sips a bottle of his own demise.
It's a strange thing to have the foresight of someone's death, especially when it seems avoidable. It doesn't sit well.
