“There he goes,” whispered one at the approach of a tall, gaunt man in black and a stovepipe hat. “The Fundertaker.”

“He doesn’t look fun at all,” said the other. “Why do they call him the Fundertaker?”

“Well-”

“It’s because he takes fun, isn’t it?” cried the first speaker. “He sucks the fun out of every environment, doesn’t he? It’s his nourishment! He feeds on fun the way others might feed on anger or shame!”

“Will you let me finish?” the second snapped. “Look at what he’s carrying.”

The Fundertaker was holding a net. With it, he dipped into the tanks behind the Metromart fish counter and removed the dead fish, adding each to a small reeking velvet bag.

“He’s the Fish Undertaker. He takes all the dead fish from the pet stores and gives them a proper burial.”

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