Funerals

I hang out with a lot of grieving people. And by "hang out" i mean "walk past them on the street." There is a funeral home and crematorium downstairs of my apartment. I have no idea where they put the burning corpse smoke, cuz i never smell it. Must be some rigorous bylaws that apply to crematoriums in the middle of the city. But they can't put a bylaw on crying. No crying in the streets. I wish. It's a off-putting event to weave your way through a bunch of bawlers every afternoon.


by Daniel Danger


by Daniel Danger

I thought the darkness of Mr. Danger's work might correlate with that story. But you know me... my stories almost never correlate with anything.

mp3: DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE - Brothers On A Hotel Bed
Blog credit: The Mahogany Blog