As I leaned against my car, the Ouzo providing the necessary stupor, the sirens of an ambulance blared through the air like a pestilence of flatulent death, farting reminders of mortality for all within earshot, multicolored lights reflect off of rain-soaked telephone poles, shooting darts of terrible beauty into my gaping eyes, a kaleidoscope of horrible possibilities to half-heartedly imagine.
“Life and death are their livelihoods. There's no point in fretting about it.”
A waking dream, inaccurate on some levels, all too true on others: Ambulance drivers gearing up, saving lives. I should commend them. We need death. Death, death, death. We need people to cause death, and people to save lives from death. As long as there is death, entropy, dissolution, corrosion, corruption, and decay, we need the flashing lights, the beautiful purposeful wail which signifies matters ominous, important, and flatulent.
We need heart-attacks at inopportune times, and gunshot wounds in just the wrong places. We need botched drug deals, Cadillac hearses with headlights that would be mournful if it wasn't just another day on the job.
Would you believe it, the Ray Charles-looking-guy driving the hearse for this man is totally baked.