Different people walk through the city streets everyday. Different people, working different jobs, going different places, thinking different things.

On this particular day, a young man was walking to the store. He was going to kill himself. But, he thought he’d have one last drink before he went. And what better choice than the cool refreshing taste of Diet Coke. It was his favorite drink. Summer days were spent slurping it out of bottles or cans with his best friend at the skate park, talking about anything and everything, and flirting with girls whenever any happened to walk by. Yes, it was a drink of memories and he thought it fitting to drink it on his last day.

He arrived at the supermarket and approached the vending machine. He was surprised to see a line of people until he noticed the out of order sign hanging precariously from the other machine. He didn’t complain, just took his place at the back of the line. After all, he had nowhere important to be.

As he waited, his mind wandered back to the dark places he did not want to visit. Memories played in his head like a movie, memories of all the things that had led to his decision. He went into autopilot, his eyes unseeing, taking tentative steps forward as the line moved. He didn’t even register that he was in front of the machine until someone behind him coughed impatiently.

Snapping out of his daze, he reached into his perfectly ironed pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. He flattened it against the corner of the machine, then fed it in and watched it disappear. When the machine dinged, signaling it was ready for the customer to make a choice, the young man selected Diet Coke. The machine rumbled tiredly, like it had something caught in it’s throat it needed to get out. With a final clunk, the machine spat the drink out.

The man reached in and pulled out his drink. But instead of the silver and red can he was expecting, his eyes were assaulted by a bright orange. In his hand was not the Diet Coke he desired. Instead, what he held was a Fanta. His most hated drink. You would think this final hit from the universe would crush any inkling of hope left in this young man. You might even expect him to break down in tears under the weight of all his troubles. But he didn’t. In fact, he did the exact opposite. He started to laugh. All the feelings that he had kept bottled inside came rushing out in the form of hysterical laughter. The patrons behind him took a collective step back, frightened by the sight of a man doubled over on the ground, laughing at nothing. But he paid them no mind. He stepped up off the ground and, still chuckling, snapped open the can, the carbon fizzing inside. He took a long, deep, drink. It was disgusting.

On this particular day, a young man was walking home. He was going to live.