Thursday.

A man was lying in the forest. And he died. Upon opening
his eyes he expected to find heaven, lush greenery and fresh
fruit and women, lots of women, with wet dripping down from
between their legs. Well, that’s not really what he
expected, but that’s what he had hoped. He expected hell. He
expected he would wake up in a jumpsuit that was too tight
around the waist, with a pleated front. He would be the
lone man on the hot box shift, shoveling shit into an oozing
burning inferno, the mouth of which was just slightly
smaller than the width of the shovel's blade, forcing him to
be extra careful, trapping his mind as well as his body,
lest he want to be covered in the mess from head to foot.
When he opened his eyes he was surprised to find neither wet
women nor hot shit. He found himself in the forest. The same
forest in which he had laid down to die. The sky was the
same shade of pale gray. The air had the same crisp bite on
his skin. The mud was still cold and caked underneath his
fingernails, in his hair behind his head.
He sat up. Zipped his worn canvas coat over top his
flannel shirt and brushed off what he could of the dirt
down his front. Leaned back on his hands and looked from
side to side. Pulled the leaves out of his hair. Bent
forward to tie his shoe. Glanced at his watch. Might as
well be on his way, could still make his shift on time at
work. Yum, he thought, pudding for lunch, he had hoped for
chocolate, he expected it would be vanilla.