I walked into the kitchen...

I recently joined a writers' group, diverse crew of scribes who meet at a coffee shop in Elizabeth - with an attached wine shop.  Does it get better?

Last week we had a prompt for next week's meeting:  "I woke up and walked into the kitchen."  My offering follows:

I woke up this morning and walked into the kitchen.  The body was still there, sprawled across the tile like a grotesque cartoon.  Shit.  Well, what did I expect?  I had to step over the legs, all akimbo, to get to the coffee maker.  Thank god he wasn't a taller man or he would have blocked the fridge.  Shafts of the early morning sunlight reminded me to turn on the AC.  I wasn't sure how long it would take to figure out how this would play out.  The coffee maker growled and the scent of fresh coffee calmed me.  I poured myself a cup and headed into the sun room to think.  I didn't know much about decomposition, or about body disposal for that matter.  What do yo Google for that?  Calling the authorities was out of the question.  First, I needed to rent an SUV, maybe a Jeep, maybe drive out to that carpet warehouse on the outskirts of town.  I glanced at my watch.  Let's see.  Tuesday. Everything should be open.  I could be back by noon.

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