The grim reaper is not a loved man. Or woman. He comes and takes the lives of your an—-anabyotics. But. What. Does he do in his free, spare time? Does he bake? Does he dance? Does he go on walks or where hot pink pants?

Maybe he eats lots of cheese. Maybe he likes to collect rocks. Maybe he likes to make some beats. Or, maybe he likes to knit his own socks.

I wonder what he eats for breakfast. The food on the table at each hour. Does he keep a bowl of fresh fruit. Does he make spaghetti sandwiches. Does he eat his tomatoe roots. Maybe he like the food that coasts riches.

I don’t know. Maybe we never will. But what goes down in his house. It’s just unknown.