Bo Freeman had wet blue eyes and three teeth. He had a brand new set, he said through the beer foam in his beard, made of real nice pine. Problem was he couldn’t afford a dentist to knock his last three teeth free and install the new ones. He said that a year back his liver packed it in and started pumping poison through him, so he dropped all his savings on a real nice coffin. Then one day his liver just upped and started working again, the fickle son-of-a-bitch, and his teeth started dropping out of his head.
He’d spent all his damn money on a damn coffin he didn’t need anymore, so he took to it with hammer, hacksaw and rasp and whittled himself up a real nice set of pine false teeth.
Now when he kicked it and they shoved him in the ground, he said, he’d feel the rain on his face and he’d have a real nice set of pine false teeth to chew up any worms looked at him sideways.
Wouldn’t you know it though, he died without a will and they cremated him, real nice set of pine false teeth and all.
He showed them to me once, on a wet Sunday afternoon, and I was moved to agree that they were real nice, Bo.