The funeral parlor pays two thousand a day for keeping vigil, and just don't mourn the body.
On my first night at work, an off-key song came from the refrigerator.
I swallowed: "Brother, please lower your voice a little."
A pale face poked out: "Sorry, I want to practice singing to get my ex-girlfriend back. She will be cremated tomorrow."
From then on, I carried corpses during the day and ran errands for the corpses at night.
Solve crimes, catch rapists, find private money, do it all.
Until the oldest body in the core area said hello to me:
"Nightwatchman, the Underworld Head Office thinks your job is quite good and wants to recruit you to become a regular employee."
