Something doesn’t feel right. You’re at the funeral of your boss, so things obviously aren’t going great, but this is more than that. Something’s off. Would it be wishful thinking, or perhaps just insane delusion, or maybe just grief, to think that he isn’t dead?

You know him. You know how cunning he can be, behind that cocky, smug, punchable grin. As you stand among the mourners, the feeling in your gut spreads to the rest of your body. You’re receiving judgy looks from all sides, as if to say, ‘How dare you look so stoic?’ But you can’t help it. Something is off.

And, of course, your gut instinct is right once more. You hear that familiarly irritating, southern-twanged voice sound from behind you. “Damn, sugar. I know I get on your ass about stuff, but not even a single tear? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.” That grin. You want to put him in a coffin for real this time.