He was planning it in the Torino,
   Knowing it wouldn't be soon enough.
   After the reports were written,
   After the stories were corroborated,
   Ends wrapped up,
   ...so much anti-climatic bullshit.

   With no special vintage
   Or discriminating eye towards aged perfection,
   He'd soothe away life's ills.
   Just for a little while,
   Smooth and deadly,
   The perfect chaser
   In light of an imperfect world.

   Yeah, he'd had it all figured out.

   Until he glanced over at his partner
   To find himself being studied.

   This was not to be a solitary journey.
   And he should not have imagined it so.

   No longer a means of escape but a promise of release.
   Another evening of buying utilities and passing go
   With the part of himself that kept him whole.

THE END