The Ideal Death of Patrick

I think about death fairly often. Not as an obsession or because of depression. I'm thought of as a fairly happy guy despite certain circumstances. It's not really that surprising that I think of it as much as I do since I've come close to it so many times already. Of course I'm fearful of how it'll come, but I know it has to happen some time. Meh.

Anyway.

My ideal death scene for myself would be thusly:

Inside of a small studio,
I'd be sitting at my drawing table. One that I've built myself. Redwood, I think.
There's a radio on low, tuned-in to a local jazz station.
My arms crossed, creating a pillow for my head to rest. It would be as if I were asleep, and dreaming of whatever wonderful story that would come across my mind.
I would want to be wearing my favorite plaid long sleeve shirt, with the arms rolled up. Along with a pair of blue jeans.
There's a smoldering tobacco pipe on the side of the table, the embers slowly losing their energy.
And resting underneath me, is my last piece of art.
A comic page maybe.
One last loving kiss to the world.

And that's my ideal death scene for myself.
I apologize if it may seem morbid of me to let my mind think about such things, but it's something that my mind wanders to every-so-often.
If I can achieve this scene, then it means I die happy.