Teddy stood, brushing the sand and dust off his clothes.
He lodged the large, uncut opal into the top of the headstone.
“Ay, da. I buried ya where the paper told me.”
Teddy’s father spent most of his life in the holes next to where he now laid. His fortune was in opals, a dangerous job with a great reward. The cancer treatments, though, depleted that fortune and left it all gone. By the time Teddy showed up, it was too late. He died.
“I’ll be back soon, da. I have to close this deal on oil with the Singaporeans.”
(Author’s note: It’s rare that I do the same artist twice, but the pictures just throw everything together. Which reminds me, if you haven’t done so already, go on back to my previous story and take a gander. Here’s the second story with music provided by the great Stan Ridgway.)