Imagine it’s Saturday morning, and you’re about to enjoy a book and a cup of coffee on your back porch, and you’re greeted by four two-foot tall winged eaters of dead meat. They’re staring you down through the glass sliding door, as if to say Do you feel lucky, punk? Oh god, not the vultures again. Welcome to Rick Mize’s world.
The mechanics of dressing a dead newborn are basic. The little girl’s face is white, lacking the flushed cheeks normally present in a newborn. She has a full head of hair and a button-type nose that makes you want to give her Eskimo kisses. Someone, probably a nurse, has put her in a onesie with yellow tulips embroidered along its Peter Pan collar. Livor mortis, but not rigor mortis had set in; the baby’s fingers are pliant and cold when I hook my finger into hers.
On October 30, 2002, David Letterman gave his whole show over to one guest: Warren Zevon, who had just been diagnosed with a fatal and untreatable form of lung cancer.