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Moore's Happy Campers

I think she cried at my funeral.
I don't mean to brag about it or anything, but I'm pretty sure she did.
Sometimes I can actually picture her talking about me to some guy she feels really close to. Talking about me dying. About how they lowered me into the grave, kind of shriveled up and pitiful, like a melted chocolate bar.
How we never really got a chance.
And afterwards the guy ******** her, a ******** that's all about making her feel better.

Chapter One
In which Hunter finds a job and a hard-core bar

Two days after I killed myself I found a job here at some pizza joint.
It's called Kamikaze, and it's part of a chain. My shift manager was cool by me and helped me find a place to live, with this German guy who works at the same store. The job's no big deal, but it'll do for awhile. And this place-I don't know-whenever they used to sound off about life after death and going through the whole is-there-isn't-there routine, I never thought about it one way or the other. But I'll tell you this much: even when I thought there was, I'd always imagine these beeping sounds, like a fuzz-buster, and people floating around in space and stuff. But now I'm here, I don't know, mostly it reminds me of Tel Aviv. My roommate, the German, says this place could just as well be Frankfurt. I guess Frankfurt's a dump too.