New Job

A few days ago I dreamt I was one of those people who goes to murder scenes and works out, using science, the time of death. It was my first day at work and I had no experience. (I had lied in my application.) I had had no training. The dead man lay on a table in a pub. He had been killed there and a perfect rectangle had been cut out of his torso. His heart and something white from out of him were on the seat under a tablecloth. That was how the killer had left him. He was going hard and dry, like meat left out.

I didn’t know where to start.

Me and my colleagues decided not to worry about it, and we sat around the body and the table and got increasingly drunk. We were alone because the pub was a crime scene.

Then we went home.


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