[ WP ] You receive news that you are terminal and only have 30 days to live , after spending your life savings going on all kinds of adventures , the doctors realise you have been misdiagnosed .

`` Hello?'' Words feel uncomfortable in his dry, cracked mouth. 
 `` John it's Dr. Stevens, please come in an see me right away.'' 
 `` Shit,'' he thinks, `` why the fuck did I answer, it's not like anyone phoning would be worth talking to. We're at day 28 and I have n't had any soul altering epiphanies.'' 
 The girl in his bed looked pretty ratchet though, he thinks he may have paid her, drugs or money, he was n't sure which. He throws on some things and walks out the door. 
 No clue where the fuck he is, his wad of cash has a safety net large enough for them to have been out with the prognosis a couple of days. He still has enough for a cab. 
 The doctor was beaming from ear to ear as he turned around to greet John, which disappeared when he saw the state of him. 
 `` Um, uuh, hello John.'' I guess I need n't ask how you are?'' 
 `` What's up.'' 
 `` Well we have wonderful news. Diagnosis was wrong. Some chemicals got mixed up in the labs. You are, were, quite a healthy individual'' 
 Nothing was said for a few seconds. `` Can I go?'' 
 `` Well yes, I suppose, but if you have any questions, maybe if you need help getting back on your feet?'' 
 `` No Doc I'll manage, thank for everything.'' 
 
 He walks into his little apartment. Rent, which he figured would n't need to be paid, was due a while back. For some reason the water and lights are still on, this is quite convenient. He puts the plastic bag on the table and rummages around the kitchen for his syringes and other paraphernalia. 
 
 Eventually his landlord broke down the door to get the kick him out. He saw the body first, the needle second and looked right past the note. The police found it later, but it was not of enough use to identify John Doe. 
 `` The diagnosis may have been wrong, but the prognosis, dear Dr. Stevens, was correct.''
