The Living Dead
Aug 22, 2017 · 5 min read

The room is small and white-walled and the air is sanitised. Outside the phone rings frequently while the sound of a vacuum cleaner whirls by. There is a bookshelf in the corner whereupon a placard rests that advertises the prices of crucifixes, candles and other paraphernalia. They are artifacts of mourning for sale.
Confined as I am, the waiting feels like eternity. Finally, he greets me with a firm, warm handshake and direct eye…

