CHAPTER NINE
If this were a movie, this would be the part where all the black people in the audience would shout at the screen, saying things like, “Don’t get in that coffin!” or “You better not!” or “Man, you crazy!”
Trust me, I was thinking those same things as I stood on the dais.
Me, die tonight? Sheeeeeeet...
But as the cold wind blew me toward the smooth, finished pine wood, I couldn’t resist the allure of that coffin. It smelled like juniper with hints of sweetness and rot. Spending eternal rest in a coffin like this would have beat your run-of-the-mill metal casket any day. At one point in a decade or so, you’d be one with the earth; the pine would rot away and worms would get you. Maybe it was an overly romantic way of thinking about it, but you try staring at a coffin with yo
