The Removalist

by Matthew Franklin Sias

  I sink into my chair and bask in the late summer sun. I put my headphones on and queue up some ELO. I’ll get back to business in an hour or two, but now I’m just a middle-aged guy with a glass of iced tea in his hand, listening to the music of his youth, blissing out.

  For a brief twenty minutes, I am left to my own little world, until my phone rings. Washington State Patrol requests the coroner. Traffic fatality on Highway 20. I put on a fresh uniform, slip on my dinged-up boots, and head to The Green Reaper. The mission continues.