Sure, we all kill ourselves. All of us, men of our times. And the spreading cocaine venom is but a symbol of the death to which we all succumb. Cocaine is not merely the hydrochlorate of cocaine; it is also the fierce and subtle and sweet death— truly, a thing of black shadows, like some nameless cataclysm, which we inflict upon ourselves voluntarily, with different voices and different words, while waiting for the consummation of our fate.