oh boy

I feel like I am in the palliative ward sitting next to my old friend Marengo. He's not doing too well and the docs are discussing his end of life care. I'm trying to stay positive but I keep glancing over at the pillow and thinking it might be best for all if this doesn't drag out.
Marengo has asked me to write his memoirs. I'm thinking the title will either be 'The DFS that never was' or 'My lost time in the jungle'. Marengo slowly leans forward and whispers something to me. At first I think he says 'sing me a song'. I ask him to speak up. With a smile on his face he says 'pass me my bong'.