Dating : My Bank Balance Was Crying in the Night

Digging graves…

It wasn’t as bad as you’d think — in some ways. Not at night. Unlike the day-shifters, who filled things in, we never had to look at a casket. Or avert our eyes when a kid walked by. It was good exercise, too. I was in constant pain in those days, and the best shape of my life.

I was digging hard the one night. Max was on his back.

“She slipped her top off, undid my belt buckle with her tongue. Then this other chick walked across the bar and kissed me. The first girl was a redhead, the second a brunette. I couldn’t decide which I liked best. So we all went home together. Man, the things we tried that night — with our bodies.”

I stopped digging. My spine was avenging its death.

Max fished a pill bottle out of his pocket, tossed it to me. There was no label on the bottle but… I knew it was oxycodone.

“They get me through the bad days,” he said. “I take them every day.”

A cousin of mine had died of an oxycodone overdose. A few cousins, actually.

“You can keep those,” Max said. “I’ve got a million more at home.”

I didn’t take one. I slipped the bottle in the big pocket of my overalls. I kept on digging.

When I finished — Max was fast asleep — Vinnie and Big Jam were still missing in action. So I poked around the Old Cemetery.

I was pretty sure I heard voices coming from the crypt with the cracked statue of a guy holding a feather pen in front of it. From behind the statue. I investigated.

Big Jam was standing with his back against the statue, pants around his ankles. Vinnie was on his knees.

Vinnie stopped what he was doing when he saw me. He just looked at me and grinned. Big Jam tipped his head back and moaned.

I walked straight to Y’s grave.