Peter was in the living room, painting the walls egg shell white.
12dollars an hour sounded pretty good at the time…
4hours later his head was heavy from the fumes.
“Peter,” Penny barked. She hung in the door way, impatiently waiting.
He was only half listening to her, ‘I dont know Penny…Heaven is probably…. just whatever you make it… in your mind,’
She didnt understand why he wasnt more concerned.
Penny snapped, ‘but your mind stops working when you’re dead,’
He shrugged, ‘better figure it out now, I guess’
And dipped his brush into a can of paint.