A true friend is a rare find, no truer words were ever spoken. Deacon enters the funeral pallor, suede jacket, busted brown leather shoes. He goes unnoticed at first; but not before long the murmuring of "who is he?" "why is he here?" reaches his eardrums. Deacon ignores and gets in line to pay his respects. His mind wanders to thoughts of him and his friend, drinking beer, telling jokes, and chasing broads, better times indeed, he smiles; but only for a moment. As the line dwindles and Deacon gets to see his friend a final time, he goes blank. Staring down in the box he ponders, "why not me?" he takes the fallens hand in his, it's cold and lonely, Deacon disapproves but accepts, he places his hand upon the man's chest and it feels warm. "See you soon old friend?" Deacon asks, the corpse is unresponsive. "See you again, Brother?" In Deacons mind the corpse nods. He does his best to remain composed, and walks back through the crowd, angry, alone, jealous...
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