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  • I pass by the funeral home every morning on my way to work. I don't give it much thought. It's not exactly a hopping place before sunrise, however it doesn't go unnoticed.

    The first time it demanded my attention was when I spotted a lone pink trimmed carnation abandoned on the long driveway. I picked up the flower and carried it open palmed on my leather gloved hand the rest of the way to work. I pondered the life behind this last remnant. I left it at an ATM counter.

    It's not often I take this route at night. Tonight it's a miserable walk. I tuck as much of my face as I can into the high, buttoned collar of my jacket exhaling forcefully to battle the damp icy air that has weaseled though the wool fibres. The night sky is as dark as it will get tonight and I think about how 7 am and 7 pm may not look different, but certainly feel different. That's when my eyes glance up and are caught by the gleaming cream paint.

    I look fixedly at it and as I'm pulled nearer, my face rises out of its protective nest. I strain to see what's inside. Only a meter away, yet nothing is revealed.

    I change my course without thought moving towards the driver passage window. Leaning forward, I'm inches away from the glass. Peering in all I see is blackness. My breathe steams up the window, interrupting my vision's depth of focus. The fog dissolves and I'm greeted by a mop of wild white hair and two large round eyes. I freeze....

    Bang! I jump back swinging my head over my left shoulder then my right. Suddenly aware of the cold and ominous surroundings, I scurry off on my way.
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