Tonight, since I’m not working, I wear a midnight blue cloak, and head off to the nightclub.

I find a spare seat at the bar, and order a scotch on the rocks. Soon a pretty woman with long black locks sits beside me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask her meekly. My last relationship didn’t turn out so well, and left me shy with women.

She rolles her eyes at my appearance, turns to her friend beside her, and says:

“You were right. This place attracts such losers.” She then twists towards me. “Why would you wear such a dumb costume to a club?”

With a skeletal hand, I remove my hood to show her its not a costume. She screams and runs, taking her friend’s hand with her.

I sigh and order a stronger drink from the bar. Why will no one give me a chance? They either shriek with terror at the sight of my face, or they try to use me. Then I have to patiently explain that I simply bring the deceased’s soul to the underworld, and I can’t choose if the person lives or not.

Suddenly, my pager beeps. Duty calls.