I spend my lunch hour, every damn day, scrolling those life expectancy calculators. Not even kidding. My grandad was a boozer, smoked like a chimney, croaked at 68 from a massive heart attack, and here I am, practically a saint, counting every vegetable, and these things are giving me maybe five, ten more years than him? CINCO, diez mas? I'm 52, I've got a kid still in school and my mother's practically an invalid, who the FUCK is gonna take care of them if I drop dead at 75? Ha. This is my life, huh? Measuring my death against a man who practically lived on whiskey and regret. I'm laughing, but it's not funny. It's really not.