Dead Guy

 Overheard at Home:

“You don’t look so hot.”

“I don’t feel so hot.”

“What’ s the matter?”

“Just sick.”

“You never get sick.”

“I’m getting old.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Had a call the other night, guy dead in an alley. It was freezing, and raining and I forgot my jacket. It took forever to get him into the truck. He was hypothermic, not breathing, looked like he’d been in a bathtub too long.”

“Why didn’t you wear a jacket?”

“Forgot it.”

“I worry about you.”



I worry about both of us. It’s just a dead guy in an alley, I suppose, but once upon a time that was more important than forgetting my jacket. It is easy to wallow in my own misery, and sense my humanity slowly and steadily slip away. Not so easy is knowing that through me the people closest to me are losing theirs as well.


“Maybe we should talk about the dead guy.”

“Maybe we should.”

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