'It'll never 'appen to me' he'd say, wanting, waiting, wishing for it to happen.
'It'll never 'appen to me' he'd gloat, mocking the distress of the people who were less fortunate than he.
'It'll never 'appen to me' he'd slur, the vodkas and rum frolicking through his veins, making even more of a fool out of him.
'It'll never 'appen to me' he'd mumble, his head spinning in nauseating circles around the room, vomit coating the front of his expensive Armani shirt and tie.
'It'll never 'appen to me' he'd rasp, gasping for air as his lungs seemed to collapse.
'It'll never 'appen to me' he'd said, knowing finally that it was a lie. Because truly, it was happening. He was about to utter it one last time, alone and afraid, but but he didn't have the energy or the heart.
The first words spoken when they found his body in the cubicle the next day was '... It 'appened.'
