“Think he’ll mind if we change the channel?”
“He’s dead.”
“I doesn’t feel right.”
“It is the AFC Championship.”
“Right.”
“I don’t want to touch the TV.”
“You’ve got gloves on.”
“I”ll do it.”
We watched the end of the second half with a dead thirty year old guy. He was shirtless, kneeling with his swollen purple face pressed against the filthy linoleum. Cockroaches watched us from the ceiling as we waited for a police Sergeant to clear the scene. An empty syringe lay on a bureau, next to a hot plate. His last meal sat at the bottom of the pan, rice, beans and roaches, hours old. We forgot about the dead guy and focused on the game. My skin was crawling when the police Sergeant showed up. I told him my time on scene, now officially the time of death and left.
lol isnt that illegal to just watch TV in a dead persons house or something
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