Ted meandered the back roads back to the city, corpsedriving his dad. He blasted the Dead on the cassette, and sure as hell hoped he wouldn’t get pulled over and have to explain the dead man in the passenger seat.
He spoke to his dad, imagined his responses, heard him, laughed with him. He had the sensation for the first time of seeing through Marty’s eyes now that Marty was gone. And that this would be his duty and his honor as a son from now on. He pointed out things the old man might have remembered; sights of beauty and things and thoughts of interest. Just general bullshit. Life. That was life—just general bullshit. And that was death, too. There really wasn’t any difference.