Conversation · Working Class Corpse

A dried chunk of blood covers the hair at the back of his head -- an open wound. It's sticky and cold to your touch.

This is what killed him.

This is where he came out of himself. Drop by drop when he was unconscious. It took three, maybe four minutes.

"I don't see any other major wounds. Do you?"

"No, just this one at the back of his head."

"Seems like the head wound was fatal. It's exactly the shape of the bench..."

"It's hard to say."

Examine the chewing gum wrapper.

'Rubowski' spearmint chewing gum. Green leaves on the cover. The man's mouth is half-agape from the terror of the fall...

Look in.

The blackness of death. Stench. You think you see white chewing gum too.

Confirmed. Nearly the whole pack is there, solidified on his lower rear teeth.

"He ate the whole pack, right? It's to cover the smell of alcohol before going home. The worst thing is..."

The lieutenant shudders from the cold. "I've seen it before: almost the same scenario. Even the chewing gum. It's always the same..."

In a ditch off a road below the 8/81, he thinks. A young father. Then he shakes his head, to make the memory stop.

To hide the stench of alcohol no doubt.

Back off.

Careful. The wind blows hard, from the east.

Examine the bottle.

A 0.75 litre 'Touloula' vodka with its cap missing. There's hardly anything left inside.

It's mid-market spirits. With a slight touch of menthol. The man meant to enjoy himself, have a good time.

"Tare, all around us..." He looks at two other bottles near the coin-operated viewer, then at your yellow plastic bag.

"I'd prefer if you didn't collect them this time. It's not... proper."

True. It feels... disrespectful.

"Tare, all around us..." He looks at two other bottles forgotten near the coin-operated viewer.

A man lies on the boardwalk, his limbs bent and neck turned at an unnatural angle. Right next to him is an empty bottle of spirits. In his cramped hand: a chewing gum wrapper.

Half of his body has slipped between the cracked boardwalk, starting with the right leg. The fall has left him broken, contorted like a sad puppet.

The smell is... not as bad as a two-week-old corpse, but it's definitely heading there.

"Hold on..." The lieutenant squats next to the corpse and examines his face. Two bulging eyes stare back at him, void of any signs of life.

"Lividity is faintly pronounced. Whoever this is, he's been dead for two days, no longer." He stands up and shivers as a gust of wind blows through his bomber jacket. "We need to investigate."

Another dead body. This is your job. Steel yourself.

Calm now. Carefully. Just another day, just another dead body. Breathe.

"Looks like he's been dead for a while. I'm surprised no one found him before you came along." He stands up and shivers as a gust of wind blows through his bomber jacket.