Literature
Waiting Room.
I honestly never thought that my life would be so -- uneventful. Then I died.
The first thing I saw was my body lying on the cold tile, wrapped in a white towel, my hair still wet, and my head split open. It was a wake-up call, definitely. Seeing your corpse is somewhat surreal. You’re like: 'Shit, that's me.' Yeah.
The next thing I noticed was the 19-digit number branded into my right arm.
Predictably, my obit read like a slice of tofu: extremely bland, and absent of any flavor.
Jack McIntyre, 23, died Tuesday evening in his Brooklyn home, after slipping from his shower.
