Except from The Wanderer

They say that ghosts hang around because they have unfinished business. But I don’t. I don’t know why I’m still here. Honestly. Why the hell can’t I move on? Poor choice of words, since I don’t know where I’ll be moving on to. St. Peter: another thing missing from this stupid afterlife. I always figured that after I died I’d be standing in some long line on a cloud or some shit, waiting for St. Peter to look me up and down and then hit a big red button on his podium and I fall into a pit of fire forever.  Nope. Never happened. Add it to the list.

It turns out that being dead is not all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve seen the movies. I’ve read the books. And it’s nothing like that. Well, I guess that’s not exactly true. The initial confusion, the “hey, what’s my body doing over there?” Sure. That’s like the movies. But none of the rest of it is. For instance, other dead people. Never seen ’em. As far as I know, I’m the only one out here doomed to walk the earth and all that jazz. Big tunnel of light? Being greeted by your dead loved ones and pets? Nope. Grandma and Fluffy were noticeably absent when I bit the dust.

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