Redemption

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You ever think about what you’d put on your tombstone? I signed to Bish as George Thorogood and the Destroyers sang in the background from the portable CD player.

He answered without blinking an eye. “You think we’d have tombstones?”

It’s a hypothetical conversation, Bish.

“Fine. All right...how about, ‘Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil because I’m the evilest motherfucker in the valley.’”

Not bad.

“Your turn.”

Sniper. Tattoo artist. Superstitious bastard.

“I’d date you,” Bish offered.

It’s a tombstone, not a dating profile, man. Besides, you’re not my type.

“Don’t sell me short. You never know when we’ll be the last two left on earth.”

Fine, but you’ll carry the babies.

Bish laughed. He didn’t often, but, hell, it was a good sound. “I’d keep the same thing for my dating profile but I’d add big feet.”

I laughed silently. Definitely a good addition for any grave.

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