I remember hearing that people would put

I remember hearing that people would put coins on the eyes of a dead man as payment for Charon to cross the river Acheron. I wish someone bothered doing that for me because

I've been floating aimlessly in the shallows for centuries. Charon isn't the type to give handouts, so I'm hoping someone will find this message in a bottle and send some cash.

Being dead is just like living, except for the fact that you don't have a body and you wish you could tell those philosophers that you now know what happens after death.

That you know the most secret of secrets, the answer to the eternal question that is the basis of stories, and poems, and salty tears on rainy days.

These lines were spoken by the tormented beat poet in the cliche cafe that evening, to the rhythm of tasteful bagpipes and screamcore

tracks. Luckily, I had my ear-plugs in at the time and couldn't hear a thing, but I still had fun watching the beat poet gesticulate wildly while imagining that he had bees in his

blast furnace. It made me laugh so hard to picture the insects burst into flames and transform into short-died pseudo fireflies that I bought a sensory deprivation tank. It makes

Yet a Folding Story in itself once folded, never ends. So Twins of folds can go different ways, The possibilities are endless, but what's one hundred started stories, if ones own

the future. The rub was making a living out of it. People were always talking about the future but it was always the wrong one. She owned the Future but nobody was paying for it.