Yesterday we buried old Billy Blackstaff at the far end of the village graveyard. That was a place he often frequented, sitting on an ancient tombstone, sucking on his old briar pipe, contemplating life, contemplating death.
We gave him a right royal send off – Martha opened up the front room, lit the lamps, brought in a barrel of the best, labored the tables with home made jellied eyeballs, pressed duck, soused pigs head, slink veal, and calves foot jelly.
We caroused up to midnight – he deserved a proper sendoff, did Billy.
I was starving by the time I got home.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly 100 word challenge found here.