A look at the mythical world's worst job: Death
It's another door, another tale
Downtown, high rent district
Glide up to the 18th floor
Brass door number, 1802
Aged man on a double bed, wife weeping
Take what you need and leave
Another door, another tale
Hospital, silent
Clock ticking away the midnight shift
Drift down the corridor
Noise here, ER turmoil, stretchers against the walls, CPR
Get what you came for and go
Another door, another tale
A tent flap really
Echoes of grenades, rifle fire
Scent of blood, disinfectant and damp dust
Shaking heads
Take what you need and move on
Another door, another tale,
Small farmhouse, early morn
Woman in a hospital bed in her living room
Husband tends the fire
Gently take what you came for and noiselessly go
Every door is a tale told
None in the telling, all complete, all ended
The young ones are the worst
Petite bodies and short stories
Another door, another tale
Dance club closed, workers sweeping inside
Up the stairs to a back room
Innocent girl, needle in her arm
A single tear from your eye
Get what you have to and run
So tired...