The music wasn't all that good. But I didn't notice it that much because I was lost in the metaphorical resonances of listening to a dead man's favorite music.
It felt wrong, holding a book while most others held only tears and a bag of chips.
I wasn't a friend is his, and no. We weren't related. I'd never met him in my life and yet there I stood, mourning the loss of a man with apparent terrible music taste.
Moral of the story: Don't take a poet to the funeral of a man they've never met.
This was quite the experience to write! I went to a public funeral with my dad for a man I didn't know because he was from my town. It's a bit harsh, no? ***