I’m snoozing on the sofa when the woman who chooses to spend time with me – innately highly perceptive – she walks in through the front door, home from work, and she says:
“You look like you’re dead, laid like that.”
I say, “What do you mean, laid like that. Laid like what, exactly?”
“Laid with your forearms crossed over your chest, it’s like you’re laying-in-state, ready for a viewing, waiting for the public to pay their respects.”
Continue reading “Looking Dead”
Brinkinfield 