I'm driving around downtown Newberg in my truck, looking for something to eat. I happen across the funeral for Terri Schiavo's brother Greg. I go into the funeral for no particular reason, standing off to the side of the room, and it seems attended mostly by rubberneckers like myself, although it is apparent who are the few real family members. They are crying up at the front, whereas the rest of us are just looking blankly at each other.

Shortly most people file out, leaving only a long cardboard box containing the corpse, myself, and Trevor Sheetz, who enters through a side door and asks me to help him move the box. At this point I think the body is that of Greg Rassmussen. Trevor looks into the box and comments that he certainly looks dead. I avoid looking into the box, but nonetheless the image of the corpse appears in my imagination, the face dead, swollen and blue.