“Hey, Death. How’s it hanging?”
“Same old, same old. You know how it goes.”
“Not me. What do I know about being Death?”
“Yeah. Guess you’ve got a point. Want a smoke?”
“Nah. I got what I want right here.” The twenty-two year old lifted a gallon jug of Jack Daniels to his lips and gulped down a couple of swallows.
“Mind if I?” The spectral figure in black held out his left hand while his cigarette still smoldered in his right.
“Go ahead.” A lot of people thought Sam was goth because of his clothes and make up, but it was all to honor his BFF.