Death warmed up

death

So, visiting my neighbour’s place, I was intrigued by what he did for a living.

“Well, I’m a collector.”

“Of what?”

“People”

“People?”

“Yes.  When it’s their time, I have to put on my old black cloak, carry one of those,” he said motioning to the wall (as per the photo), “and collect them.”

“You carry a scythe?”

“Don’t worry, Christopher, as you see, right now I am currently neither wearing my cloak nor am I holding on of my scythes.”

Suddenly, I clicked. My neighbour is ‘Death’. For now, not mine.

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