MORTUARY – NIGHT: Cold. Silent. Fluorescent lights hum above. Joey Zotti’s eyes snap open.
(groggy, hoarse) What the hell…?
He sits up suddenly, joints cracking like dry twigs. He looks down at his chest—stitched up like a cheap Halloween decoration. Yo! Did I get jumped by a sewing machine?! What is this, Tim Burton’s ER!?
He sniffs the air and grimaces.
Why’s it smell like expired Febreze and grandma regrets in here? He swings his legs over the side. Stepping off of the table.
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