The Grave-Keeper reached down and pulled the dead man from his grave — the grave they had just dug for him. The dead man brushed the neutrinos off his vest and spoke, even though his jaw was unhinged on one side.

“Thanks for that. Though, I suppose it was your fault I was in that predicament to begin with.”

The Grave-Keeper rubbed the back of their neck, concealed beneath their black hood. “How am I to blame? You were dead. It’s my job to ensure you’re properly kept.”

“Trust me, I would have been fine without you. Do you always feel so compelled to throw yourself into the pit of work?”

“It’s more than work,” the Grave-Keeper said, visibly offended by the association. “It’s my obligation. My sacred cosmic duty.”

“Call it what you want.” The dead man looked over at the Grave-Keeper’s not-car. “Say, that’s a nice car!”

“It’s not-car.”

“Yeah, yeah. Were you out here cruising?”

“I was”

“And you stopped for me? You really shouldn’t have.” Before the Grave-Keeper could protest, the dead man continued, “Say, I’ll do you a solid, Grave-Chaser. Pull up a stump or some star. I’ve got a little tale to tell.”