You halfheartedly toss a pair of socks in your overnight bag and wonder, "How did it come to this? How could this be the last time socks will ever be packed in this battered old bag again?" You consider your impending demise but become distracted, albeit briefly, with thoughts of your intended destination.

Ah... New York in November. Crisp, cool air nipping at your ears as you traipse the streets of Manhattan in search of the perfect bagel. You've heard it's just up the way from the little spot on 43rd where you used to grab coffee and croissants, across from the Starbucks - hmm, exactly which of Manhattan's ten thousand Starbucks might that be? Well, no matter. The pleasure is in the pursuit and what better place to purs...

The scream of horrific headlines drowns out all manner of rational thought and, knowing your phobic instinct will not be denied, you ponder the potential scenarios in hopes of selecting a fitting final tribute to your fleeting existence:

"Airliner Falls From Sky in Fiery Cascade" Wow - sounds horrific and, really, why involve all the poor fools whose only offense was boarding an airliner with a Jonah like you? Yes, they should have been able to tell simply by looking at you, but still...

"Emergency Door Malfunctions - Lone Man Falls to His Death" Better - No undue carnage. A single tragic loss. And, yet... Surely the experience would traumatize the survivors for life and, really, could you bear the eternal guilt?

"Man Trapped in Airline Toilet - Starves to Death During Holidays" Ah - This sounds incredibly promising. No multiple deaths, which is always a positive in such circumstances. No afterlife-long sense of unendurable guilt over trauma inflicted upon those whose only peril was their proximity. Yes, yes - this sounds very good.

You race ahead in your mind's eye, scanning the fictitious page for the facts you fashion on the fly, author and editor of the details of your decidedly disastrous demise. "Man's foot caught in toilet..." No, that won't do - you're not, weren't, a complete idiot after all. Hmm - Maybe, "Man's foot stricken with rare palsy..." Palsy? Please! Your ten-year-old could do better than that. How about...

"Officials from the National Transportation Safety Administration (NTSA), in a preliminary reporting of findings, have verified the man felt he was acting in the interest of national security. "It appears the gentlemen in question discovered what he believed to be a small explosive device," said David McGruder, NTSA spokesman. "The device was in actuality a mold-covered tuna on rye, with an unidentifiable type of cheese, possibly swiss. To his credit, the man rushed the "tuna-device" to the restroom, crammed it deeply down the toilet and flushed it into oblivion somewhere over the cornfields of Nebraska. Unfortunately, the man was then unable to extricate his arm from the toilet and, well - you know the rest of this hero's tale turned tragic."

You whisper to yourself, "It's perfect..." Slowly nodding your head, you imagine the bittersweet response of readers, at once saddened that such a brave man is no more and, yet, somehow curious the mold had not tipped you off. It all seems fitting. An enigmatic life should yield no less than a quizzical death.

You sigh, more out of quiet resolve than sadness, and zip up the side of your trusted traveling companion. "Well, old friend, time to go..." Fighting back a tear, you give the bag a gentle pat and let out a deep sigh. Then, the slight smile of inspiration crossing your face, you check your watch and rush toward the door. Dropping your airline ticket on the desk, you give a triumphant nod and toss your bag over your shoulder. "Come on - we've got a train to catch..."