Death StyleMature

“Which brings up the next thing,” I pulled up the deferments screen on Grace’s computer. “We can’t forcibly make anyone come with us. So we monitor the laggers here, so we’re ready to pick them up at a moment’s notice, should they lose their focus, or change their mind.

“Finally: Dress Code,” I said. “Casual’s preferred. Research shows that people are more likely to go with us if we looked relaxed and not intimidating. Don’t wear anything that makes you look like you run a funeral parlor. Definitely stay away from that ‘Ghost of Christmas-Yet-to-Come” look. Think more like Audrey Hepburn from Always. More Gap than Goth.”

“Got it,” Grace noted. She unwrapped a black hoodie from her waist and held it up. “Is this okay? In case it gets cold?”

I thought it over. “Iffy. If you gotta wear it tonight, try not to use the hood. People freak out easily when they’re dead.”

The End

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