‘Whater ya doin’ York? It’s late, don’tchya know. I heard ya crept in on the stercase, ya can’t get passed me.’
‘Oh good mornun’ Spieler. Go back ter bed yeah? It’s late. I’ve bern upter no good. Diggin’ graves. Nothing that would intrust yuh.’
‘Diggin’ graves yuh say? The ‘el yuh talkin’ about lad. Now I’m awake. Get back here.’
‘It’s nearly two thurty. ‘M goin’ to bed. Talk in thuh mornin’ yeah?’
‘Nooo. Weil talk now. What der yuh mean yer diggin’ graves boy?’
‘Eh. Death ya know? I crawl inside the hole, put some dirt on meh. Loosens me up. We take life too seriously. The dirt is soft. It’s cold. Almost welcomin’. Wouldn’t care if I’re creepin up a stercase.’
‘Gah boy. Yer just like yer folks an ya don’t even knowte. Fook, they practically met in a grave. They loved the dirt, yer parents.’
‘Yeah, no, I know Spieler. God do I know. I feel em everywhere I go. But especially when I’m diggin.’
‘Ay boy, you know they left you a fortune ya know.’
‘Oh I know, I know. That’s exactly why I lay in the dirt. Gotta feel the mud. Absorb the life in the darkest of hours. I love me life. I fear the death, I do. I know iht’ull ahpen. I do. The dirt comfirts meh. Then I get tired. Come back home. Crawl into bed, irf fye don’t get interrupted by ol’ Spieler. Let me sleep will ya?’
‘Oh York. Promise me you’ll stay a while- an ya know wha’ I mean.’
‘Ah Spieler, I know zactly whatcha mean. I won’t spoil the grave. I’ll stay as long as I can. Now let meh get some rest, yeah? I’ve got loads of shet ter do. Loads. Heaps. Laundry loads of shet. And ‘ill love every minute of it just for you Spieler. Just for you.’
‘Ay. Amen boy.’
‘Aye. Amen. Goodnight Spieler.’
‘Aye, make meh breakfast tomorrow fer waking me up. N’ take a shower. Yeh smell like soil.’
York starts toward the last of the stairs.
‘I hope I come back as a tree.’
‘Yeh what?’
‘I said goodnight.’
Door closes.
Footsteps.
End scene.
(Just some folklore about grave subjects)
Humor