At least the state doesn’t have just enough drugs left to kill you.
At least you didn’t want a glass of water at the wrong time.
The company that (unwittingly?) manufactures the drug is Hospira, where my father worked before they outsourced their Ashland facility to Costa Rica. The place I toiled for two lucrative but oppressive summers.
Maybe if the Department of Corrections run out of lethal drug they can let the death row inmates work a couple of night shifts inspecting douchebags and preemie infant bottles for small flecks of burned plastic defects. Maybe force them to read The Bell Jar during their lunch breaks (vending machine food only!) and let nature take its deadly course.
Isn’t it crazy how life intersects? she asks as she lights up the water bong.
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