I could think about what we’d done but what good would it do?
Everyone is just here for the main act.
Liquor and beer rain overhead as the crowd surges to the music. Food from the buffett Matt so graciously supplied disappears.
Buffett a la Matt, we called it.
After all, it was what he wanted, to be recycled, given back to the Earth.
“Have you tried these meatballs?!” The guy stumbles then graces the ground with undigested chunks.
Matt meant cremation, we know, but times are tough. Eventually his remains will make it there.
This is just a detour.
I’m sorry, I do not know how my brain got here.
Word Count 100
For Friday Fictioneers