I saw Death today. I know it's Him before He speaks my name. He's not wearing his usual black garb, nor is He carrying a sickle. No, Death has come dressed for comfort. His denim jeans are ripped at the knees. He wears His baseball cap backwards over His shaggy blond hair. Hi weather -worn flannel shirt coveres a faded Greatful Dead t-shirt. Apparently, Death has not gotten the memo that the 90's are calling and they want their grunge look back.
But, I see Him on the corner of Wilshire and Brooklyn. He is casually leaning against the pole that holds the walk/don't walk sign. As cars pass by, Death peers into the driver's side windows. He shakes His head at the occupants of the cars. He can hear their conversations and seems a bit disgusted.
I approach Death with caution. After all, He is Death. A sneeze in my direction and my poor mother will be picking out gravestones.