Tommy looks ridiculous in that coffin. Arms all crossed. I know it’s uncouth to say, but that shit is fucking funny and if Tommy were here watching this spectacle he’d be laughing too. Then we’d sneak off into the bathroom for a couple bumps to get us through the rest of this church business. It’s already taking forever.
Tommy was good for that: a puff, a bump… something to pick up those in-between times. Of course he never had shit once we got anywhere. I always figured it’d even out in the end.
Did it even out?
Doesn’t matter. He’s up there in that ridiculous suit his mom probably bought yesterday. Some preacher who probably hasn’t seen him since Sunday school is quoting the Bible. Bring out some of that wine! Jesus’s blood will make this all right. Not some Bible verse.
It’s not like he had to watch Tommy go.
