I rode with Death

Ever wish you had a camera in your head? I mean, when you could just snap a picture of something you saw and no one would know or you wouldn’t have to be obvious about it? Yeah. Like every freaking day.

Anyway, I had to take the bus from Magazine St. to the CBD today to get my truck. I had gone to La Boulangerie this morning to get some bread and they have this loading zone outside and the street drain at the loading zone has this sharp corner and my tire got ripped and the truck had to get towed to the tire place (no room to just change the tire) and, and, and…

…so I get on the bus at Magazine and St. Andrew at about 5pm and there’s a guy in one of the front seats who is Death. Honest to God. Black hood, drapy clothing, black fingernails, pallid complexion (even more pallid than your average Goth kid — it’s like he’d been cultivating it for a decade or so — he made the damn Winter brothers look Fresh From Florida). All he was lacking was the scythe on a long pole. I guessed he was done reaping the antedeluvian Uptowners for the day, so he was headed back to the CBD (where Death lives, donchaknow — I think off Julia or Girod).

He nodded at me. I’m not sure to feel scared, impressed or, well, lucky that’s all he did.

As I departed the bus (before he did, thankfully), I noted his rolling cart with a sign that said, “Palm and Tarot Readings.”

Oh. Hell, he ain’t Death. He’s just going to work.

If you wanna make a living, you got to put on a good show, y’know?

1 Comment so far

  1. termite on May 20th, 2008 @ 9:18 am

    that was just Jack Ware.

    silly goose.


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