Dead is a series of short stories, each dealing with the aspects of death...

"No," Paul slurred, as he shifted around on his bar stool and looked directly at Jack, "I mean dead as in gone! As in outta here, friggin' history, get it?"

"Yeah, dead as in dead, as in suicidal again, as in I told you, I don't know how many times you can't do that. You got resposisilillyties? No, resposabilities. To-hell-with-it, you know what I mean."

Apparently Jack couldn't talk any better than he could, Paul thought. But, they had both been drinking since eight this morning, and it was now nearing four PM, what else could you expect? Paul asked himself. And not beer either. If they had stuck to just beer, they'd be fine. But Jack had got him going on the Ginger Brandy chasers. Beer... Shot of Ginger Brandy... Beer... Shot of Ginger Brandy. And that was the way the day had gone. "I knoooh," Paul said, still slurring his words, "that I got them things, respectabilities, but I. Have. Had-it. Frigg it! I mean, less say I croaked right now. Jess sittin' right here on this Beer-stool-Beer-stool was a private joke. Neither of them could remember which had started calling it a Beer-stool, but they both knew one of them had-drinkin', and then I croaked. Say a freakin' heart attack, prob'ly would be, or a stroke. Anyway! Dead, like right now... You're sitting right freakin' there, and I buy the farm. Then what?"

"Hey, for real, man, like mental health might be a thing to think about here."

"Uh uh, you ain't got it yet, is all. I don't mean dead as in dead, I mean dead as in gone, get-it?"

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