As I stood by the grave, there was a loud bang and the coffin’s descent halted.
The motorized winch had shorted out again.
We’ve been needing a new one for a while, but the boss is cheap.
And a drunk.
“Hand crank it,” I say to the crew, and head to the office.
“Motor blew again,” I say.
“Use the backup one,” he shouts, and he knocks over the empty bottle off of his desk. “Aw dammit.”
“This is the backup one,” I say, and, trembling, I smash in his skull with it.
No winch for him.
He’ll be cremated.