The Search

By Ross Clement

The rich decompose in exactly the same way as the poor. Whether they lie on an old mattress on the floor, or a four poster bed behind delicate lace, the mummified corpses all look alike.

I rifle through bedside drawers and find diamonds in a velvet lined Tiffany box. Useless. I throw them on the floor.

Downstairs, here’s the kitchen, the pantry. Layered black truffle in extra virgin olive oil. Pink rock salt from Hawaii, labelled in French. Is this some sort of joke from beyond the grave?

Tinned baked beans in tomato sauce. Result! I’ll eat like a king tonight.