It’s cold. It’s raining. It sucks.
Hell of a way to get your final send off. Sealed in a box and dropped in a hole. Sucks.
Jacker deserved better. A runner ought to go down in a blaze of glory, or else dreaming of the glory days as you fade away at the age of ninety-seven. And he was a good guy, for a scumbag. Should have gotten a lot more out of this life. Should have had more than three other runners show up for the burial, too.
But none of that matters, after. You’ve gotta move on, with or without him. The shadows are waiting, and a runner’s gotta eat.