Life keeps getting weirder and weirder.
I've a funeral to go to on Thursday. I'm glad it's soon to be over and done with. Even gladder that the rota unexpectedly changed and I've the whole day off - and, therefore, don't have to give an explanation for something I'd rather not talk about.
When it's done and...laid to rest... the fucking papers may, finally, shut up about the whole incident.
I don't really want to be a journalist anymore, to be honest. Not after the last few days' bullshit "reporting". Vultures. Soulless hounds. Vicious bastards.
I can't imagine what the families are going through. Reading that shit can't possibly make it any easier.
The whole city's talking about it. Everyone has their bullshit 2cents-worth to give. Everyone's an expert, a critic - everyone has an opinion.
But, I suppose, if I didn't know better, I'd gossip and coo and gasp about it too.
And, y'know, I genuinely doubt that (were I a clueless journo) I'd have written it any differently. In fact, I predicted it all - all the reports - the way it was handled and spun - almost word for word. That scares me.
This sort of thing usually happens to "other" people. Not real people. Not nice people. Not people you worked with and thought you knew.
RIP, a chara.