There was a competition for the job of playing myself. I saw the notice pinned to a tree. It said there’d be plenty of shifts, the graveyard for sure, and that the applicant should have a stomach for fear. It said the person selected would be restless and lean, dreamy but sober, loyal, and sane. It said forget about holidays, they weren’t in the cards, but there’d be a control on sorrow so you could stay afloat. And a guarantee of love so you wouldn’t be alone. Work would absorb you but money would not. Perks you’d invent as you hurried along. Time would be generous until it ran out.
I decided to apply. It was the chance of a lifetime.
And now for the good news! I’m on the shortlist! 