21
I can hear the rumbling sound of the furnace as it fires up. I feel the heat on my skin. For some reason, it feels good. Good to be back at work. Back to earning some cash. Vegas is just around the corner. Can’t set foot in those casinos without a decent amount of money to blow. It wouldn’t be right. But the greatest thing about being in Romkirk again is the routine, the normalcy of it all. Although, to most people, normalcy might be some way off from burning reanimated corpses in a furnace—especially for a living.
Not me, though.
This is where I belong, where I was always going to end up. A career.
It’s not exactly glamorous, or dignified, but neither is cutting someone up with a scalpel then sticking them back together, or shooting someone down in some shithole country in the midd
