The sticky tile floor was cold against Tammy’s cheek. The cashier screamed and grunted, but Tammy could not see him or even move. Her eyes blinked slowly and unfocused.
After you die, you get one phone call. You can call anyone you want and ask for whatever you want. At least, that’s what my best friend told me over the phone about an hour after I attended his funeral.
To some people, Roy looked angry all the time. He had a long face and a crooked nose. Roy’s beady eyes, always half-closed, made him look distant and uncaring. His thinning stringy hair dangled just long enough to touch his narrow shoulders.
Jeffery Franks was a high school dropout, and five days after his seventeenth birthday, he stole a bicycle and got arrested.