_All Dave Miller wanted to do was commit suicide in peace. He tried, but the things that happened after he'd pulled the trigger were all wrong. Like everyone standing around like statues. No St. Peter, no pearly gate, no pitchforks or halos. He might just as well have saved the bullet!_Dave Miller would never have done it, had he been in his right mind. TheMillers were not a melancholy stock, hardly the sort of people youexpect to read about in the morning paper who have taken their lives thenight before. But Dave Miller was drunk--abominably, roaringly so--andthe barrel of the big revolver, as he stood against the sink, made aring of coldness against his right temple.Dawn was beginning to stain the frosty kitchen windows. In the faintlight, the letter lay a gray square against the drain-board tiles. Withthe melodramatic gesture of the very drunk, Miller had scrawled acrossthe envelope:"This is why I did it!"