Beginning of a short story
Staring out the window on the way over here, I started thinking about those new ad's that Charlie had told me about. The ones that run together to make a moving picture when you pass them real fast. Like on T.V. I wanted to ask him about them again, but this time I was alone. "This is an amazing time to be alive, you know? The guy who thought of that must be a real innovator, and after this there's only going to be more like him. People are constantly re-thinking the every day, the mundane. The human capacity for innovation is astounding." he always spoke that way.

Charlie was always on top of things like that too. He listened to talk radio and read magazines a lot in his apartment. He could always get the jump on you in a conversation.

I didn't want to put it like that. It's too early to be joking about it - even if it was accidental. . .
Charlie killed himself last week. He jumped out of his appartment window, down 3 stories, and landed face first on the sidewalk.

I know people say things like "Well at least it was a painless death" to try and comfort family and friends, but I don't think that's really the right way to think about it. As a matter of fact, I think they're lying to themselves. It must have been one hell of a release for him, and I'm sure the immediate exclamation point that was Charlie's blood stained remains was a painless one, but if he was lead to an end like this where did the pain start? What continued it?

Charlie was never the morbid type. I would know, we'd been best friends for almost 10 years. He never liked to talk about death, he hated the thought of not being alive to see what was going on. He vested more interest in life than the rest of the people on his floor put towards figuring out who was masturbating in the community showers every day. (It was clogging the drains!)