"No," Tanek responded immediately, because he was never inclined to ascribe any kind of kindness towards himself. Tanek was cynic-adjacent, but when it came to himself, he was a fully fledged misanthrope. "And Baudelaire, he wrote a lot, about a lot of things. He became a poem while high on opiates. I mean, that's the dream, right?"
The joint had found itself in his hands again and he took a long drag. "Maybe that's what I should do. Become an artist, or perform magical tricks by killing myself. A modern Houdini. Mordini. Get all those youtube hits."
He grinned into the night. The stars flickered. "Hey," he said, "who would you kill?"