Lou came down the hill to the apartment complex with a few empty garbage bags and put them down on the table on the porch outside the complex. He looked around the bright May day and despite feeling happy about the weather couldn't shake the grim feeling that had grip over him.
Vasily and Booker were dead.
Lou looked over and up to the room the two of them had shared many times and frowned some. Harry had taken care of Booker's body the night of his death, but now it was time to clean out their room, and more than the cringe-worthy mess, the thought of going through dead people's stuff always bummed Lou out.
Given his line of work and his personal history, he had cleaned out more than a few rooms and apartments that belonged to the dead and every time it got to him. He'd find collections, clothing, pictures, all things that used to mean the world to a person, now meant absolutely nothing to the hired hands that were cleaning them out.
The occasional keep sake was one thing; a wedding photo, a signed poster, a favorite hat... that sort of thing was fine. But what do you do with a person's shoes or tooth brush besides throw them away? It really put into perspective just how much junk a person could own. Junk that a person needed but no one else did. Junk that was their Junk, and no one else's.
Lou pulled a pair of work gloves out of his coveralls and put them on. He had asked around for folks to help clear out the rooms with him and he would see who would come help him with his grim tasks.
"Those that clean end up with dirty hands."
He muses to himself.