Whitefish River the wires got the best of him

She can't help the snort that bubbles out of her when he responds. Green, leafy stuff, She informs him, voice still a slurred mumble. Or you could just let me die. I... She yawns. I think that'd be best. Her tone is too casual, as if the meaning of the word die has escaped her somehow. Or maybe she's just too jaded by now to feel the full effects — maybe she'll die as apathetically as she'd lived, with this poor man whose name she can't remember as her only witness.