Blackjack: Dirt Nap
He did this alot, these days.
He stood off to the side, away from the other mourners. His black suit wrinkled and dog eared. His sunglasses utterly pointeless on this gray and rainy day.
No umbrella, his black raincoat soaked, he watched the mourners crying and releasing. There was an honor guard, a line of soldiers in uniform.
A wife, young girl. His sons, daughters, same age as his wife. Grandchildren, nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters, friends.
All of them devastated.
This was the fourth funeral he had been to in the last week.
Three the week before.
He wasn't counting how many accident scenes and 'haunted' houses he'd visited.
Guns fire. Three times.
The salute for the Veteran.
The family crumpled at the sound, one son had the look as if he had himself been shot.
Blackjack tossed the soggy, half lit cigarette out, and watched the mourners return to their cars. He debated whether eh would follow them back to the house for the feast afterward, to talk to the family.
He wouldn't do that today. he waited till they were clear, and approached the grave himself.
"Have a good trip man...when you get to the otherside...tell her I will be with her when I can..."
Blackjack turned and walked back to his truck.
Climbing in, he picked up the newspaper, and looked over the obituaries.
He started the truck up, and headed cross town, to the next final farewell of the day...
He stood off to the side, away from the other mourners. His black suit wrinkled and dog eared. His sunglasses utterly pointeless on this gray and rainy day.
No umbrella, his black raincoat soaked, he watched the mourners crying and releasing. There was an honor guard, a line of soldiers in uniform.
A wife, young girl. His sons, daughters, same age as his wife. Grandchildren, nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters, friends.
All of them devastated.
This was the fourth funeral he had been to in the last week.
Three the week before.
He wasn't counting how many accident scenes and 'haunted' houses he'd visited.
Guns fire. Three times.
The salute for the Veteran.
The family crumpled at the sound, one son had the look as if he had himself been shot.
Blackjack tossed the soggy, half lit cigarette out, and watched the mourners return to their cars. He debated whether eh would follow them back to the house for the feast afterward, to talk to the family.
He wouldn't do that today. he waited till they were clear, and approached the grave himself.
"Have a good trip man...when you get to the otherside...tell her I will be with her when I can..."
Blackjack turned and walked back to his truck.
Climbing in, he picked up the newspaper, and looked over the obituaries.
He started the truck up, and headed cross town, to the next final farewell of the day...