charon

There's the ambulance stopped at a red light. A sterile white light peers out the two small foggy square windows on the back doors.

I notice it's tires, it's boxy, home-made coffin shape.

the light turns green, and it slowly rolls off. Small chains attached to it's belly clink and clang together, alerting everyone around of it's presense.

Like Ebenezer's ghosts, it's nothing but suffering.