Every day I sit down at the desk that is located in the front room, perfectly positioned for looking out onto the busy street.
Every now and again, as I lift my head from my emails, I notice a hearse carrying a coffin slowly make its way to the graveyard near my house.
Sometimes there is a car or two following, rarely more than three. Often it is just a lonely hearse, carrying a lonely coffin with a lonely dead person inside.
Sometimes, adoring the coffin’s side, is the relation of the deceased to the mourners spelled out in flowers.
I watch it go past and then I go back to my work.