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Simon, a man in his late twenties, is waiting whilst watching skateboarders jumping and flipping off a set of steps when his friend arrives.

“See those kids with the skateboards over there?”
   “Skilful little shits,” Simon half-joked venomously.
   “Yeah, but they said something really strange before you arrived.”
   “Right?”
   “They said, “you're dead”.”
   “Yeah? Well, they don't look too scary to me. Just kids. You a man or a mouse?”
   “No, it wasn't threatening. That's what was strange about it.”
   “Go on.”
   “More like, I was dead,” Peter searched for the right word, “earnest. They sounded earnest. You know, as if I had died.”
   “Yep.”

Peter got up and they started to walk in the direction of the pub.
   “What do you mean, yep?”
   “Well you are dead. You died, didn't you? Don't you remember? Saturday night you were knocked down and killed. I had an evil hangover the next day. You probably don't remember. Of course you don’t remember. Black out, kid. Man, I'm still recovering. Oh, the hospital. What a mess. What a wait! Hey, I was crying and everything,” Simon shuddered, “hope you appreciated that. Appreciate it!” Correcting himself.
   “So what you're saying is, and let me get this straight, I'm dead?”
   “That's right. Bingo!”
   “So what am I doing here and more to the point why the hell did I go to work yesterday? If I am really dead, that is. What the hell are you going on about, Pete? If this is one of your wind-ups it's outta order. Morally wrong. I would go as far as saying, it's totally fucked-up. Dead?!”
   “Sorry mate. I know it is a bit harsh. But there you go. You're dead.”
   “So if you're saying I'm dead why I am not in heaven or hell or re-incarnated or whatever, smartarse?”
   “Cos none of that stuff exists. That's how. That's just the man-made, made-up crap. We both thought that didn’t we ... you ...”
   “What?”
   “Well, this is how it works, when you die you just carry on same as you had been doing before. The only difference is that everyone knows you're dead and they treat you as if you're dead. It's all that guy in the wheel-chair, isn't it. Apparently the guy was spot on the money. Multiple parallel realities or something. Hawkings, that's the fella. Death is just a split, mate. And ghosts, well they’re ... erm ... fuck it ... I dunno .. like, just short circuits between these realities. In the same way as deja vu is just a short circuit between the part of your brain that processes memory and the part which controls cognition. Saw that on a documentary. Clever that.”
   “Right. fine. Well at least that clears that up.” Peter felt confused and sick. He couldn't think of anything to prove Simon wasn't telling the truth. He was now definitely in need of that drink.
   “We can still get served?”
   Simon laughed.

As they walked down the street Peter thought about this extraordinary revelation regarding death and tried piece together Saturday night. He couldn't. So he decided to play along with it.
   “So what do I do now then, eh? If I am dead that is?”
   “Well the way I see it is, what can you do? As I see it you just have carry on, as is. Look, I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll get the first few rounds in seen as you're dead and it's has come as a bit of a shock.”
   “Right. Thanks ... I guess.”
   “Come on Peter, what did you think happened when you died?”
   “Well, you know, I hadn't given it much thought. None of that heaven and hell crap though. Fuck, we’ve talked about it enough. You know my shit.”
   “Well there you go then.”
   “First couple of pints on you, you say?”
   “Couple.”
   “The whole night. The dead haven’t got money to waste, now have they?”
   Simon chuckled, “yeah, mate. No worries. Least I can do.”

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