Gerald lifted his glass and drank from it.
"Dad's dead," he said.
"He's dead, all right," said his brother, Jimmy.
They sat at the bar. The surface was sticky and greasy.
Gerald set his glass down again. "I suppose we should bury him," he said.
Jimmy put his hand on his glass but did not lift it. "We don't have to do that ourselves," he said. "They have people at the cemetery who do that for you."
"I know that," Gerald said. "I'm talking about ritual matters."
He picked up his glass and drank again. He held the liquid in his mouth before swallowing. Jimmy looked at him.
"You mean a funeral."
Gerald spread his hands. "There should be a big room," he said. "With a lot of people in it. And a priest or a rabbi or someone like that should get up and talk."
Jimmy picked up his glass and held it in front of him. "That's what a funeral is," he said. He took a drink.
"If you say so," said Gerald.
A woman sat at the end of the bar. She was reading a magazine. The men looked at her.
"I'd better be going," said Jimmy.
They set their glasses down on the bar. The bartender came over and gave them their bills. They paid and went outside.
It was afternoon. The sun was hot and bright.
"I guess I'll be talking to you," said Gerald.
Jimmy nodded. He opened the door to his car and sat down in the driver's seat. He closed the door, started the engine, and drove away.
Gerald looked across the parking lot. A dog was urinating on a telephone pole. A man held the dog's leash and waited.
*a parody
