Hurry, Hurry, Die

So I saw a dead body yesterday.

Laying in the middle of a crowded and car-jammed street.

The sheet only partially covered him as he lay next to his crushed Mustang.

A well tanned arm crept out from under the sheet and into my field of vision.



Why is it we're in such a hurry to get places in life, but in death our hurse proceeds at a crawl?