ANOTHER DAY our friend Frost (yep, sorry to say he’d been drinkin’ again) decided that life was not worth living. He begged his friend John Baptista Baccigalupi—everyone called him ‘Bat’—to shoot him. Bat obediently took up his old Winchester and called out in businesslike tones, ‘All right, where do you want me to shoot you? Shall I blow your head off, or put a hole in your belly?’ Frost hesitated a moment and then said, ‘I guess there’s no hurry. Let’s wait ’till morning.’”

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