I always grew up hoping one day I'd go out like "Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid," going down in one last blaze of glory with a true friend standing beside me to the bitter end.

I just never figured my final moments would be spent running out of a crack house, covered by my gay best friend and the love of my life, a post-op transsexual hooker named Darla and sprinting into a hail of bullets delivered by the combined forces of the NYPD and the SouthSide Crips.

I guess it's true, we don't get to choose our destinies.