Being dead wasn’t all that bad, you know?

It was kind of like being on antihistamines. It’s kind of fuzzy and indistinct, a sort of pleasant heavy blanket over your brain. You got to go where you wanted, see whatever you wanted.

It was neat. It was peaceful.

Then, out of nowhere, some schmuck in a Borders in Albuquerque decides he’s gonna go ahead and try to read aloud from The Book of the Dead. I mean, who does that?!

So here I am, stuck back in the sunshine lands of the living, inhabiting some rotting husk of a body (wearing somebody else’s corpse, by the by, is pretty goddamn gross; it’s like wearing somebody else’s underwear…you get this psychosomatic itch all over you), trying to figure out how to get out.

It’s not working out so well.

This thumb just fell off. You don’t realize ho much you use your thumb till it falls off.

Great.