Billy runs a restaurant in hell. It is a tricky job, as you can imagine. His fine diners are often angry and confused, not because of the food or the service, but because, well, they are in hell. They are not well-suited to handle anger or confusion. The restaurant ends up being a psychologist’s office, a hospital, a, dare I say it, church. Everyone here wants to talk to God and get an answer. No. If you are in hell, it’s done.
Instead, everyone talks to Billy.
One of his favorite customers is a writer. He is polite, interesting to talk to and he laughs, for real. When he laughs, you get a sense that everything is alright, even though, well, we are in hell. Right?
The writer’s diet is simple: black coffee, pasta with butter, gin and tonic. He didn’t come with a ring so Billy assumed he was single when he died. The writer comes to dine every Wednesday at noon and stays to chat and write until the sun sets. Yes, you heard me right, the sun sets in hell.
The writer is working on a comedy about people he met while alive and their afterlives. Some of the characters are current residents in hell. The world is indeed small.
Billy wants to know more about the writer and his previous life. Wednesday has become the day Billy looks forward to each week. Something about hearing the writer’s laughter and seeing the corner of his eyes lit up, all that makes Billy feel as if he could see colors again.
colorless
