Later, I waited at the curb for the bus, which I would ride until I figured out how to deal with the presence of Death—or at least until the bus stopped running. The thing of it was that I never really thought about death all that much. Sometimes the prospect of just how disenchanting life could be seemed like it could stretch on forever. Now, Death may have been at home, waiting for me.
Someone with a deep voice tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, but your epidermis is showing. You might want to take care of that.”
All of “Our Mutual Friend” over at Garbled Transmissions.