Quietly, he stood up to polished loafered feet. A penny atop each flap. The soothing breeze from two industrial ceiling fans calmed me a bit.

I set my black hat atop the casket. I opened it up. I smiled as I traced my fingers along his cold lips. Lips that used to kiss both sets of my lips...

Seven years worth of photos, jewelry he bought me, memorabilia and paraphernalia...

In there with him.

Taking a match book from my purse, I struck the first match.

"You're dead to me. Even the memory of you."

I dropped the match inside the casket.

I then struck another, and set his 20×25 photo perched on a tall iron tripod, and lowered the flame underneath the picture...

"Make sure this funeral stays off the record. "

I gave the Pastor a manilla travel bag with  a hundred k in crisp bills. 

My heels clickety-claked up the enormous aisle as I held my head high into the sunshine.

Shit, my future looked brighter in an instant. 

I forgive you, Kenny, Byron...

And I forgive me...