A reasonable human being who doesn't want to die of poisoning, and might be labelled by idiots as "a pussy"

"Fuck it," you groan, taking up your fourth can.

You take slow, steady sips of it as you watch Ben drain his fourth can at the same slow albeit steady rate as he always drinks, before smiling as he chucks the empty aluminum can aside.

"That'll be a win for me, old Jack," he smiles, before popping open the tab of the victory can.

"You're a hell of a drinker, Ben. I'm impressed."

"Thanks, bud," Ben says, as he begins guzzling the can. "Shit, this is hard stuff. Do you have a cigarette?"

You nod, checking your pocket and popping open the flimsy box of smokes stored there, before offering him one. He eagerly accepts, lighting it, before offering one to you. You accept it with a smile.

"Jesus, it's a hell of a year we've had, Ben," you say.

"Eh. I ain't one for reminiscing. I reckon either we'll come around back to this sort of shit, in which case, no use remembering what's to come, or we won't, in which case the memories don't mean shit. Right?"

You shrug, taking a long inhale of your cigarette.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right, man," you nod. "I suppose that's the truth of everything: it's almost all a waste of time."

"You said it, brother!" Ben laughs.

The two of you enjoy your cigarettes, before dropping the remainder on the ground and crushing it underfoot.

"Alright, we should probably head back," you say.

"Yeah, let's go find where those dumb **** addicts are."