Boredom, which had begun as a mild infection, now took him over completely. No activity seemed worth the doing, no conversation worth having.
Eventually they covered her and all he could see was a mound of tangled tulips bent low over her body, which was kicking to the last.
“You don’t believe in ghosts?” “Well,” Milkman smiled—“I’m willing to, I guess.” “You better believe, boy. They’re here.”