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Mocha

Mocha’s got a two-ton hearse, which isn’t as big as you’re probably thinking but is the only one in town big enough to haul the hermetic casket of Long Jim the Sailor’s Friend. A speaker at his gravesite will play recorded clicks and whistles for visitors. People line the procession route for the hometown hero; children throw origami life preservers and cry.

But we were talking about the hearse.

“Why do you even have one this big?” asks Joule, black-suited in the passenger seat.

“Pair funerals,” says Mocha shortly, “were supposed to be huge,” and smokes a gray cigarette.

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