We keep it moving, stopping like ten seconds later to watch this raffle where a Death-Cast rep is offering free subscriptions. If the line wasn’t so long, I’d hop on too, because their service isn’t cheap. A woman wins a free month, which is worth $275. You can pay as little as $20 for one day or $3,000 for the whole year. My medical bills are wild enough, but my guardians still invested in the annual charge anyway because my heart condition won’t exactly take a day off. It must be nice to not need to drop that much bank and only opt in when you’re planning on doing something super adventurous, like skydiving or rafting. (You’d probably skip jumping out of a plane or traveling down rapid waters if you find out you’re about to die.)

Unfortunately, Death-Cast is yet another thing insurance doesn’t cover. Which I guess doesn’t matter if you’ve got thousands on thousands on thousands on thousands in your pocket.

“Did you read that article about people wanting platinum memberships?” I ask Dalma.

“I did not. Do I want to know?”

“More like do you want to punch someone in the face?”

“Never, but hit me with it.”

“Some rich-ass clowns were campaigning for Death-Cast to have a platinum tier where the operators would call them before anyone else dying.”

Dalma stops dead in her tracks. “Rich people are why we can’t have nice things.”

Meanwhile, we’ve got Dayana and Floyd investing fifteen grand of their life savings on annual memberships for everyone in the house, not getting greedy for how fast the Death-Cast warning comes as long as it arrives on time before any of us can die.

I stop watching the raffle after seeing someone disappointed that they’ve received a free subscription for only one day. It seems like they were hoping for more, like maybe they can’t afford one of the bigger fees. There’s a lot in this world that I wish were free, and I’m adding Death-Cast to the list. People’s lives are at stake here.