March 16, 2012 § 1 Comment
I am reading a newspaper outside a small cafe on Rue d’Antin when I notice something peculiar. While perusing the local sections I come across an obituary of myself. That is to say, an obituary written about my life and apparent death. At first I scoff at the justified lines, assuming a coincidence of the highest order has occurred. But as I continue reading I realize that the obituary is truly about me and not someone equally similar. The small block of text recounts the life I chose to live, summarizing my overall lack of success via the inverted pyramid method. As I read and re-read my life as it can be explained in 86 words, it dawns on me that the obituary rather clearly states that I died last Wednesday of spontaneous human combustion in a dance club. As today is now Friday, I can only assume this was not in fact my obituary, but rather that of a more popular and flexible version of me. I fold the paper over me knee and sit back in the small wrought iron chair, pretending that the spontaneous death of some stranger is of little concern. I think back over the past couple days and worry that I can remember nothing of any measurable significance having happened since Wednesday. Seeking some degree of comfort, I wave at the waitress to refill my coffee, but she walks right past without noticing. A second attempt is made but yields nearly identical results. I tilt the cup slightly toward myself and peek at the tiny bit of cold coffee staring up at me. I can see the slightest portion of a cloud above reflected in the remaining drink. It is at this point that I begin to wonder if under-tipping may be a sin.