Because I could not stop for death...

There's a old hearse that hoors around the neighbourhood here. It's from a funeral home on the other side of Funchal - Camara dos Lobos(1) - and the engine sounds exactly like the creepy truck from Jeepers Creepers.

On a regular basis, the long hearse barrels down the road, all clanky and juttery, and screeches to a halt at the supermarket. It's not holding a coffin, but someone's flowers are strewn around the back.

Anyhoo, today is one of those all-white days. I was coming back from coffee when out of the mists came a spanky new hearse - engine thrumming quietly, all modern and sleek and shiny.

It tore down the road and skidded to a stop at the supermarket, someone's flowers bobbing around inside.
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(1) Teeny fishing village whose claim to fame is that Winston Churchill painted watercolours there.