Genial mortician’s consultant,
now a imprudent hobo.
A lackey planted next to him,
but not a single dime for his kookaburra.

Quash the hobo’s esteem,
make him repent reposing the kookaburra.
The motto: don’t be fastidious.

It’s Friday morning, he’s running as fast as he can. He’s late. Again. Setting his foot in the humble funeral home he works at, he’s immediately confronted by one of the morticians. Nero called him “The Skeleton” due to the man’s height, weight, general scariness, and breath that smelled like dead people.
“NERO! YOU’RE LATE! AGAIN!”
“Yeah, I-“
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR EXCUSES, YOU’VE BEEN LATE AT LEAST 6 TIMES IN A ROW NOW. DO YOU THINK THIS JOB IS A JOKE? YOU’RE A MORTICIAN’S CONSULTANT. A CONSULTANT. PEOPLE DEPEND ON YOU AND RIGHT NOW WE HAVE AN IMPORTANT FAMILY COMING IN AT 12 FOR MY ADVICE THAT I DON’T HAVE BECAUSE YOU’RE A STUPID SELF-CENTRED KID!!”
“Well if you’re done with the yelling I could easily help you out. Is that fine with you, mister?”
“Fuckin’ hell, Nero..”

After Nero had given the mortician a few handy tips on how to get the most money out of the grieving family, they still had a good ten minutes left until 12. The Skeleton suddenly turned calm, but the tone of his voice still had a kind of a strictness to it.
“You know our top competitor moved their services right across the street, right?”
“Mhmm,” Nero didn’t really care.
“Well, we need more money to compete with them. If we don’t manage our high budgets somehow, we’ll all lose our jobs.”
Something was wrong here.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that we don’t really need a consultant anymore. You give good advice, but it’s been mostly useless these last few days, I’ve already known these methods myself. In reality.. it’s not even a real job. Even YOU don’t take it seriously.”
“BUT I-“
“We appreciate the year you worked with us.”

And soon enough Nero found himself outside of his now former workplace. He had hoped to say something witty, but it all happened so fast and The Skeleton kept cutting him off. Although he was already outside, it didn’t stop him from shouting a few “nice” words at the building he was just kicked out of.

Nero had no idea what to do next. He was in huge debts, he had no living relatives, good/rich friends, and finding a new job seemed hopeless. He sat down on the street and set his head on his knees. Sat there like a little kid who had just failed a test and felt that their whole world was going to crash because of it. Suddenly he heard a voice.
“Hey, you look.. troubled.”
Nero didn’t even care enough to look who it was, just replied with some weird animal sound.
“…well, I’m here to congratulate you on winning the lottery. The grand prize, or whatever. So congratulations, multi millionaire!”
Nero jumped up, eyes as big as god knows what.
“IS.. IS THIS REAL?!”
“Of course it is.”
“I’M NOT DREAMING?”

And he woke up.
Laying on some coat he had found, good old Spotty warming his leg, a few dimes in his cup. Headache-y.

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