It’s the middle of November and I’m trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don’t just bury themselves. Sigh. The things I do for money.

Lucky for me, the snow is light and kicks away from me in delightful puffs with each step I take. Sunlight comes through the trees in golden columns. The ground glitters like millions of tiny diamonds. It pays to notice the beautiful things in this line of work. Yeah, I might be hauling the corpse of some two-hundred-pound jackass who couldn’t pay his debt but look how pretty this forest is!

My mind wanders as I walk, letting my thoughts drift to happier thoughts – the warm fire waiting for me at home; what I’m going to have for lunch; what chapter I’m on in the book I’m reading. Without realizing it, I’ve walked to my last dumping spot. The snow has now covered the subtle discoloured patch where I buried the last guy to owe my boss money. By spring, the ground will all look the same, saturated with the melted snow. God willing, the bugs will have picked apart buddy’s body until there’s nothing but bone and stringy tissue. He’ll become a part of the earth. Circle of life, and all that.

I can’t bury jackass here. I call him jackass because I can’t remember his name. I’m sure my boss told me so I could be sure to get the right guy, but it’s slipped my mind. I walk further into the woods, stopping once or twice in a sunny patch to let the warmth wash over my face.

Jackass’s lack of name is starting to bother me. Was it Rich? Richard? Something with an R, I’m sure. I’ve reached a spot I think will do. It’s far enough from the other site, and deep enough in the woods it’s not likely to be stumbled over. I drop the edge of the tarp I used to wrap up -- Robert! That’s his name – and take the shovel from the pack on my back. I push the blade through the layers of snow until I feel the ground vibrate against the metal. It goes in, but the dirt is nearly frozen. It’s going to be a tough one.

Shallow grave it is. Sorry, Robert. I start digging.