[[BoxJam comes up to Ms. BoxJam holding a newspaper]]

BoxJam: Aw, jeeze. A twelve year-old died. A service will be held tomorrow to "celebrate his life."

BoxJam: I hate that. "Celebrate his life" is such a lie- or should be. Either the people doing this are lying to themselves about the life this kid missed, or some funeral director forced it on them.

BoxJam: This is a time to be angry. Curse the fates, spit on destiny. We're not going to fix anything pretending we're here

to have a good time.

Ms. BoxJam: We're not at the service, dear.

BoxJam: We're going. We're going to help these people.

Ms. BoxJam: Ooh, fun. I'll get a baby-sitter.