“The postman had found her sitting in her chair in the parlor, staring at an old television set. He’d knocked on the door first, then entered the house, calling “Mz. Suzie?” Her mailbox had been full of ads for stores seventy miles away in Houston and clearinghouse $10 million giveaways and guaranteed credit card offers. No one had seen Old Suzie for a while, which was how they preferred it if you’d asked them and they’d been honest. But the postman had smelled something. And it hadn’t smelled g...ood. What he’d found was a two-week-old corpse, still sitting in a dilapidated, greenish recliner, staring gape-mouthed and slack-eyed at her “shows,” as she’d called them. No one really knew what she’d died of, but the story went around that it was something old people tend to die of a lot. Her position in the chair and the fact that dead bodies don’t always know they’re dead yet had forced her bowels and bladder to take their normal course. The hanging rot of flesh combined with the smell to impress an image on the postman he would not forget as long as he lived, which wasn’t long.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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