Quoted By:
Grave digger saves on rent and commute by staying in a mausoleum. On his way to use the toilet he hears some people. Doesn't think much of it. Goes, and walks back. Another day another dollar, finishes work, bathes and washes his clothes at a beach. Returns a book and steals another from a library. Reads under lamplight. Ritual repeats, cash pay builds up untouched, his only real possession. He buys jewelry with it. He notices an old woman while he goes to his usual spot to read. Sits with her and tells her she's still alive in more or less the same words. Asks her if she'd want her dead husband back, she says no, the world is too vicious, and that kids are replacements. He leaves her and she asks if that's it. They fuck in the mausoleum. In the glow of several discarded phones she looks much younger. And his jewelry looks better on her. One by one the phone light dies.
She's still asleep in the time before morning he knows by instinct. He searches her clothes, finds her keys. Clothes himself and her. And carries her to the carpark.
Breathes down her dress to warm her in the cold. She gives up on resting, slides out of his arms, and says goodbye. Opens her car door and leaves. He doesn't care about the jewelry. Glad to be remembered by it.
Fights the ground in hate to exhaustion. Rests on the shovel, spews. Goes back to work. He's cheaper than machinery. Which breaks down reliably inconveniently.
People die less often than it seems they should. People look at him like the grave is for them. He can tell when he is being watched, it pisses him off enough to ignore the fatigue. Finishing one means little, straight to the next. Following a treasure map. Each dig one less spot the pirates hid the treasure.
Dehydration makes him hallucinate small changes, impossible shortcuts he takes. He pushes himself so hard water is the best thing in his life. Endurance has him forget when he last drank, sometimes it's days. It's good to want something.
