11.7

The fat man clasps the railing, his professional dignity entirely gone. He suddenly struck with a memory: the last time he was so out of breath. He can't remember it exactly, but it haunts him. Where was he? Was it? But it doesn't matter. All he can remember is the stricken panic. All of the fear in his body coming to a point behind his eyes and drilling out. His chest held together by crypt of iron. He'd been promised his doctor to cut back, to exercise. But fate is hateful, as it turns out.
Now, here he was again. Same situation, different circumstance. He had a morbid thought: grave humor. What if this was his last chance to breathe badly? What if this was the last time he would gasp in agony and terrify the people watching him? What if this was his last chance to screw everything up?
Stricken with agony and shaking with mirth, he met his maker.