The last five minutes of Clic's life went as follows:
"Ok, Clic, this is the last one, after this you really need to get home.." said fat bob the Barman.
Bob handed over one last double scotch. Clic was bleary-eyed drunk and could not see everything clearly any more.
"Now beat it, buddy!" said Bob. "I've got to clean the place."
SLAM! The door closed right behind Clic. He stood alone on the moonlit sidewalk. Swaying gently, by himself, sucking in night air, cold crisp and at last devoid of blue cigar-smoke.
Clic looked up and down the street for his car. Being so drunk, and not able to walk straight, it was a hard job finding the car which fitted his keys. Finally the car all the way in the back of parking place was the right one.
Clic sat down in the drivers' seat – then noticed a dark form next to him.
"Hey! Who are you?" *hic* "What are you doing in my...".
Clic was found slumped behind the wheel of his car the following morning, dead as a dodo.
In Memoriam: RIP: Clic