The brochure pledged genuine underworld experience; Back by supper, souvenirs on hand.
Nobody mentioned the River Styx traffic, bumper to bumper souls, Charon checking his phone, tourists want to know if he uses Venmo.
Hell was unlike what I anticipated. No spectacular flames, no pitchforks, those are only for the Instagram part.
The portion they photograph for the brochures.
True hell is fluorescent lights that buzz just incorrectly.
Elevator music in a key not in existence, waiting areas where the periodicals are all from 2003,
Interviews with people who only discuss their side gigs.
The devil conducted a meet-and-greet. Professional. Corporate grin, strong handshake, good suit.
Hell surfaced publicly in the '90s, had to ascend After all, suffering is a growing business.
My tour guide continuously examined her watch: The last ferry departs six. Don't pass over it. Still, they neglect to tell you here About excursions to hell: the tough part is not leaving, It's seeing you have been taking them all your life.
Every Sunday evening Every joyless morning.
You stayed where your soul was going to die every year.
The return ticket has always been discretionary.
Most of us forgot.