Craig Rice

“I just thought,” she sobbed, “about all the times I used to come here and how everything looked then, and then I didn’t come here any more but I knew everything was just the same, and he was here, and now he’s dead, and everything of his is gone, and it’s all so different.” “Sure,” Jake said, patting her. “Go ahead and cry.” “It was just as if I didn’t really know what had happened, because so many other things kept on happening, but walking in here like this made me realize everything all of a sudden, Jake, and it’s awful.” “A lot of things are awful,” Jake said, “but you get used to them.” “I won’t ever get used to this, Jake. I’ll just keep thinking about walking in here and finding him dead, even when I’m an old woman and all my teeth fall out and nobody likes me any more, and I’ll never forget any of it, Jake, and I’ll never be happy again as long as I live, never, never, never.” “Cheer up,” Jake said, “you haven’t got hay fever.” She stopped crying and looked at him. “What about”
― Craig Rice, The Corpse Steps Out