Real Friends – A Flash Fiction

1 min read

FriendsBob started giggling while we wheeled the gurney down the hospital hallway.

“This Is Not Funny,” I said, biting off each word. The body – or client, as Bob called it – didn’t smell, but I’d still put VapoRub under my nose. We clattered down the dark hallway toward the back exit.

“It’s really nice of you,” Bob said while he tried to stifle his giggles. “I mean, when Maggie called in at the last minute, I really needed someone to help me out here.”

“It’s not what you think. You’re paying me.”

“Sure,” he said, “but not enough to be moving clients from the hospital morgue to the funeral home. And that’s how I know you’re a real friend.”

“Don’t.”

“Because friends help you move, but real friends -“

I tried to focus on the corpse on the gurney, ignoring the sanity-blasting pun.

Never make friends with a mortician who moonlights as a stand-up comic.

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