Coming home

MY HOUSE, ANY DAY NOW

(doorbell rings)

ADAM: (opening door) Hi, what can I hel...wait, it's you! Where the fuck have you been?

THE GRIM REAPER: (sighing) Baltimore. I've been stuck in airport security for the last three days. Ever tried to get a scythe past the TSA? Good luck. 

ADAM: Goddamn it, I've been sitting here for twenty years waiting on you. 

GRIM: It's tough to convince the agents to let you go when you're made of smoke. 

ADAM: Beautiful. So you're out gallivanting like smog while I've been on my couch for two decades in limbo, anticipating this? Since when does death take a vacation?

GRIM: Hold on a minute. That's not fair. You're underestimating the burden of the job. Killing people is a lot of work, you know. 

ADAM: A lot of work?! You've been doing this for millennia! 

GRIM: Exactly! You don't understand. It takes a real toll on you. Just look at what I'm expected to do today! (reaches into pocket, notecards spill everywhere) Ah, shit. 

ADAM: What the hell is all of this? Your hit list?

GRIM: (stuffing cards into his pockets) Today's, yeah. Actually, some of these might be from yesterday. 

ADAM: And you keep the damn things loose leafed? No wonder it took you so long to get here! 

GRIM: No, I'm pretty sure the dry cleaner lost yours. That one wasn't my fault. 

ADAM: Oh, great. You're telling me the end of life is ruled by a card catalog and a fucking solvent-based laundromat? Perfect. 

GRIM: It's hard to get the blood stains out of my robe, you know. This thing can really sop it up. And the smoke just cements the damage, never mind the smell, so you leave Juanita alone. 

ADAM: Juanita?

GRIM: My dry cleaner. Be nice. She's very sweet. 

ADAM: (groaning) Christ. Okay. Well, what now? 

GRIM: (cramming more cards into his pockets) You're a goner, but give me a second. Damn it, there's a lot of these.

ADAM: Don't you even have a briefcase or something? You know, an Excel subscription is only like, I don't know, ten bucks a month. 

GRIM: You think I can afford that on my salary? The soul-trading market has been depressed forever. Give me a break.

ADAM: I guess that makes sense. 

GRIM: Besides, TSA confiscated my rolodex. Now hold still.