Old Friends

Setting: A quiet café. Steve (in his 40s, slightly dishevelled) is sitting at a corner table with a coffee and a half-eaten croissant. The door opens with the sound of an eerie wind, though nobody else in the café reacts. Enter DEATH, wearing a classic black robe, but with sunglasses perched on his bony nose and a cup of takeaway coffee in hand. He approaches Steve, who looks up in confusion.

DEATH: (cheerily) Ah, there you are! It’s been a while. How’ve you been?

STEVE: Sorry, do I know you?

DEATH: (mocking offence) Do you know me? Oh, come on. After everything we’ve been through? All the near misses? The times you dodged me like we’re in some sort of game of tag?

STEVE: You must have me confused with someone else. I don’t think we’ve met.

DEATH: (laughs) Oh, please. It’s me. Death. You know… Death. Big D. Grim Reaper. Ringing any bells?

STEVE: (staring) Death? As in… the Death?

DEATH: Bingo. I mean, you’ve seen my work. Not to brag, but I’m kind of a legend.

STEVE: Okay… um, what do you want?

DEATH: (sitting down uninvited) Oh, you know, the usual. Bit of a catch-up. Quick chat before we get down to business.

STEVE: (panicking slightly) Business? What business?

DEATH: (ignoring him, takes a sip of coffee) So, what did you mess up this time? Honestly, it’s inspiring the skill you have at that sort of thing.

STEVE: (spluttering) I haven’t messed up anything! I’m just sitting here having a coffee. What are you talking about?

DEATH: (dramatically sighs) Honestly, you’re impossible to keep track of. One minute you’re climbing dodgy ladders, the next you’re crossing motorways like you’ve got a death wish—oh wait, that’s my department. (chuckles)

STEVE: Wait a second. Are you saying I’ve… dodged you?

DEATH: Oh, several times! And not even in cool, action-hero ways. That time you choked on a peanut at the zoo? Classic. I was ready with the scythe, but no, here comes some stranger with the Heimlich manoeuvre. Rude.

STEVE: That’s not my fault! I didn’t ask to choke! Or to be saved!

DEATH: (leaning back) Well, no one asks for these things, mate. But you’re a regular Houdini. So, what’s it today? Heart attack? Falling sign? Spontaneous combustion? Don’t keep me in suspense.

STEVE: (growing desperate) Nothing! I’m perfectly fine. Healthy as ever! No signs, no combustion. Look, is this some kind of joke?

DEATH: (ignoring him) Right, let’s move this along, shall we? Any regrets? Unfinished business? That time you pretended you were sick to avoid your cousin’s wedding—you want me to apologise to her on your behalf?

STEVE: How did you—look, this is ridiculous. I’m not dying today!

DEATH: That’s what you said last Tuesday when you thought it was a good idea to microwave an egg.

STEVE: Look, I don’t know who—or what—you are, but I’m not ready to go anywhere with you. You’ve got the wrong guy.

DEATH: (calmly sipping his coffee) Huh. Bold words. You know, I get that a lot. “Not ready, wrong guy, I’m too young.” (sighs) You humans act like I’m some sort of telemarketer. It’s a bit hurtful.

STEVE: Maybe because you show up uninvited and start scaring people?

DEATH: (offended) Scaring? I’m delightful! I bring closure! Peace! And, occasionally, free coffee. (gestures to his cup) Speaking of, I got this from that new café down the street. Lovely macchiato. Shame you never got to try it.

STEVE: (panicking again) What? Why not?

DEATH: Oh, relax. I’m just messing with you. Not your time. Yet.

STEVE: (exasperated) You can’t just waltz in here, make me think I’m about to die, and then say “just kidding”!

DEATH: Why not? Keeps things spicy. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your coffee. But seriously, maybe avoid tall ladders for a while. Just a hunch.

STEVE: Great. Now Death gives DIY advice.

DEATH: (heading towards the door) Hey, I’m looking out for you. Sort of. Catch you later...