A Letter to a Stiff

Dear Stiff,

I must confess that seeing you lying there on the sidewalk this morning - a human lump covered with a white sheet - was a bit disconcerting. One doesn't really want to see a dead body on their way to work. Especially on a Monday morning. I suppose that's a bit selfish since all I had to do was look at you while you are, in fact, dead. Perhaps this shouldn't be all about me. I must say that you were well attended by the half dozen or so local police officers and the ambulance attendant. Were they waiting for the coroner? A detective? A body bag?

We couldn't see any signs of a car accident and because it was already 10:30 in the morning, we can only presume that you weren't a homicide. So what happened to you dear Stiff? Were you an elderly person who just keeled over? A rummy whose body just stopped functioning? Did you hear that Rodríguez Zapatero's socialist party won last night's election and the shock killed you?

I hope you have people who love you and will mourn for you. It seems an awfully lonely way to go. I must say that seeing you there - a human lump covered with a white sheet - with your elbows sticking out from under the sheet akimbo and your toes turned inwards saddened me. But your passing certainly seems to have enlivened the half dozen or so local police officers who were milling about, chewing the fat and laughing. Watching over you sure as hell beats yesterday's assignment: providing security for yesterday's Miss San Roque Beauty Contest. Having watched the contest and having seen the 40 contestants, I'd rather hang out with a stiff too.

Have a nice afterlife.

Yours sincerely,

La Gatita Gringa