Jim is setting up a two-car funeral.
"How many cars do we need," he asks.
"Two," I say.
"But there's three mourners," he says.
"One car for the corpse, one car for the mourners," I say.
"Isn't that three cars," he says. I notice he hums quietly after every sentence.
"Two cars," I say.
"But they're wearing formal clothes," he says.
"They'll fit. Jesus," I say.
"So, three cars it is. Say, whose funeral is this," he asks.
"Yours," I say, picking up a hammer.
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