See, This Was Why I Liked Coffee.

Cincinnati Morgue, An Equal-opportunity Service Since 1966.

Life Was Going On, And No One But A Handful Of People Cared If I Lived Or Died.

Good God,” I Whispered, Sitting On The Van’s Cot And Looking At My Legs, Horrified. They Were Hairy—not Wolf Hairy, But An I-couldn’t-find-my-razor-the-last-six-months Hairy. Utterly Grossed Out, I Took A Peek At My Armpit, Jerking Away. Oh, That’s Just…nasty.

I'd Never Seen A Man Who Could Outshop Me, But Jenks Was A Master.

You Cannot Thrash The Person Who Makes You Coffee. It's A Rule Somewhere.