"Back from your whoring, boy? I keep tellin you nothin good can come of what you do. But I suppose you're not listenin to me as usual are you boy?" James' wagging finger fell on ears as deaf as his mouth was silent. Even though he was glad to be back at work, he was still in no mood to go through the motions of humoring James. "Anyway, it's been busy since you were gone. I got three bodies lined up to burn today, and be sure to give em the bronze urns. After that I need you to run em to the cemetery for placement. No services. When you get back, catalog the 6 that came in last night. Get crackin son, time's a wasting!"
"Damn James, what the hell do you do while I'm gone? I swear I almost run this joint..." Nodding, he left the main office and made his way to the crematory. This was actaully one job he actually enjoyed. It was warm, nobody came to bother him, and it was one of the few places he could get away with smoking on the job. He grinned thankfully at the thought he didnt have to haul the bodies today. The night shift guys must've done him a favor.
"Thanks fellas. Saves me some sweatin..." After making sure the door was shut and locked, he took a moment to have his customary lunch, and lighting it quickly, took a deep drag into his waiting lungs. Unbuttoning his shirt to keep himself a few degress cooler, he took a seat on one of the pine boxes, playfully molding his cigarette's ashes on the lid. "No services eh...? Hmph, guess you wont mind bein an ashtray for a sec then, will ya?" After finishing his last drag, he set up his 3 riders, and, flicking his cigarette in the last machine, set them in motion. After his task was completed, he made his way to the cemetery to place them where James had written. Showing his card to the lady at the cemetery office, he nodded and coughed his thanks after signing the delivery sheet.
Entering the massive building, his footsteps echoed loudly off the marble floors and walls. Turning a corner, he came upon the column he needed, which he noticed by the 3 thin slabs resting on the ground a few rows from their open niche counterparts. He chuckled to himself. "Well, at least these are ground level...nothin worse than placing by the roof..." Pulling the urns out of his backpack, which he wisely hid from the lady in the office, he checked the names on the urns, and after a brief moment of using the last one as a football and running pretend plays, he placed them in their respective resting places, secured the slabs, and proceeded to leave. Or so he thought. After reaching the main chamber of the mausoleum, that old familiar pain pricked his temples once again, and he quickly found himself kneeling in response.
"Argh....damnit not again!!!" Breathing quickly, he tried hard to regain his composure. There were too many this time, he couldn't make out one from the other, much less hear what they were saying, not that he had a mastery of that to begin with. "There's nobody fuckin here!! Where are these fucking voices comin from?!?! I gotta get outta here!!" Fighting to gather himself, he leaned against the wall to steady himself, and make it back to the hearse. Crawling into the driver's seat, he slumped over the steering wheel, cradling his head until the pain stopped. "Damn where is the book girl when you need her..? I should took the whole bottle. Shit this hurts..." And as he began to regain his bearings, he started the engine and began the ride back to the office.
"Sweet Jesus, boy, those eyes of yours are even stranger than usual! You gonna make it through the day boy?" Rubbing his still aching head, he nodded. "Those last 6 are down in the freezers. All I need you to do is match names and toe tags." Giving his thumbs up, he took the back way around the building, avoiding the service going on in the parlor. He hated the drone of the funeral home equivalent to elevator music, and the overabundance of people was never his thing. Sidestepping down the stairs, he was thankful for the mild aura of cool the freezers provided. It helped to soothe his head. Finding the check sheet resting on the desk, he took to his work while he was still of a mind to do it. Checking off the names on the list, chuckling at one of the causes of death: "74...tripped over dog, felldown stairs...damn son, just wasn't your day, was it? Damn you, Old Yeller!"