John started his way through the park. He never knew whether to be fearless or extra fearful doing things like this. It was a bad part of town, he'd only just got to the park and already witnessed a drug deal and seen several hookers with their pimps. On the one hand, John didn't need to be afraid of death because he knew it would happen anyway, it was just part of his day. On the other hand, dying still hurt. It was still a very unpleasant experience and dying certain ways were worse than others. John preferred accidents and heart attacks. Something quick that he didn't see coming. He had wanted to die in his sleep for a while but it hadn't happened yet, mainly because John didn't usually sleep anymore; he only died. As he crossed over a small bridge spanning the gap between creek banks he saw two men starting to fight. As he got closer he could tell one of them was mugging the other. When John first started dying he tried to be a super hero of sorts. Dying was sort of his super power, and so he would place himself in dangerous situations to save people knowing that he would come back. Super heroism ended up being more complicated than he thought, however, and he quickly learned that people usually just need a mediator instead of a beating. He had long since stopped interfering in situations like this but he felt his gut tug him in that direction. “What the hell.” He thought. John didn't usually die twice in the same day. At least, there was generally a good span of hours between deaths so John thought it unlikely that he would die here, and if he was wounded in this confrontation it wouldn't be fatal. He called out, “Hey! Why don't you take me on!” The thief looked over his shoulder and saw John walking towards him. He turned around and drew a knife. John saw the glint of steal in the moonlight and began removing his clothes.

“What the hell are you doing?” called the thief.

“I'm invincible when I'm naked!” John called back. “Come at me, bro!” John ran at the thief who was so taken aback by having a naked man threaten and charge towards him that he stumbled over backward, dropped the knife and ran off. John stopped running and began putting his clothes back on. The man being mugged was thankful and confused.

“thanks” he said.

“No problem.” John said back, pulling his Hawaii shirt back over his head.

“Is that true?” He asked.

“Is what true?” said John.

“Are you invincible when you're naked?”

“don't be stupid.” he said. Although it wasn't such a ridiculous idea to John given his condition.

“Then why did you take your clothes off?” The man asked.

“No one wants to fight a naked guy.” He said. Even though John was pretty sure he wouldn't die he still wanted to minimize the pain he felt. He had learned lots of weird tricks like this over the last year and a half as he found himself in these “nothing to lose” type situations.

“Is there any way I can repay you?” asked the man. “Do you have a place to stay? You look hungry, the sun will be up in a few hours, can I buy you breakfast?” John's stomach growled at the suggestion of breakfast. Even though eating was no longer necessary for him he still jumped at the opportunity to lessen his hunger pains.

“That, uh... That'd be great...” he stammered, thrusting his hand out awkwardly. “Name's John.”

“Andrew.” replied the man, firmly taking hold of his hand. John felt a little weird. So much of his life had been confrontational over the last year and a half that he sometimes forgot what kindness felt like. In one sense it was amazing how dehumanizing death was, and yet in another it made sense. Everyone dies, that's part of life. Only a few have ever come back from it, and as far as John knew he was the only one who was subjected to it over and over again. Andrew's kindness and gratitude felt so foreign to John at this point that it almost felt like burning; it hurt, but he wasn't sure it was a bad hurt.

“I know a great 24 hour breakfast place not too far from here.” said Andrew. They began walking away from the creek and out of the park. It must have been somewhere closer to 4:30 at this point and John could feel his stomach acid tearing away at his stomach lining and occasionally leaping up his esophagus making him cough. As they exited the park they rounded a corner and John found himself in some more familiar territory. This was close to his neighborhood, well, close to where he was sleeping. He didn't want to think of it as his neighborhood. They walked a few blocks and found themselves in front of a tiny greasy spoon diner with only 2 tables on the inside. John looked at the sign which had a cartoon of a robust man flipping pancakes and the words “Big Jim's Tiny Kitchen”. Andrew opened the door which triggered a little bell to ding letting Big Jim know he had some customers. Big Jim walked out from the back and greeted Andrew by name. John was taken aback at how big Big Jim really was. It wasn't that he was a fat man, he was that, but he was also very tall. He seemed almost taller than the room itself, although John knew that was impossible. He had the most beautiful tribal tattoos up and down his arms and even a small tattoo on his face. John couldn't place his ethnicity but he was pretty sure it wasn't Aboriginal; at least not North American Aboriginal.

“Wut kin a git you, Drew?” he said in a thick accent that John was still having trouble placing.

“Let's get some pancakes and eggs for me and my friend here, and a side of... oh, I don't know what do you prefer, John, sausage or bacon?”

“Uh, sausage” said John softly.

“And a side of sausage for John.” said Andrew

“Cumminup” said Big Jim. Andrew and John took a seat and Big Jim came and poured them each a cup of coffee that came from a pot that John thought must have been on the burner for 2 days now. He didn't mind though, for him caffeine was caffeine. He never worried much about food poisoning anymore, although the few times he had died from that were pretty unpleasant. Andrew grabbed a small jug off the other table.

“Cream?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” said John, “Just black with sugar.” He poured in his sugar from the jar on the table and began mixing it in with his spoon.

“So, what do you do?” asked Andrew, “I mean, aside from rescuing people through nudity?”

“I used to maintain auto pressing equipment, but I had to give that up about a year ago.” he said.

“Recession?” asked Andrew.

“Let's call it 'workman's comp' without the 'comp'” said John.

“Sounds rough.”

“I survive.” said John before thinking “sort of...” “And yourself?” John asked.

“I'm an anthropologist” said Andrew. “My field of study is mainly around how different cultures look at death. Their beliefs of mythologies, and how it shapes their societies. It probably sounds boring, but I find it completely fascinating!”

“Not at all” said John, in fact he found this information really intriguing given his condition. “I'm also fairly fascinated with death.”

“Really?” Andrew asked somewhat taken aback. “How so?” John got quiet for a moment. He wasn't sure how to respond.

“I, uh... I have this dream where I die every day.” he said

“You mean, every day you dream that you die?” Andrew asked, puzzled.

“No, I mean, I have a dream where each day I die in a different way and then am brought back to life by magic or aliens or God, or something...”

“Fascinating...” said Andrew. “There are quite a few ancient myths that play with the idea that death and resurrection are part of a cycle. Several ancient near Eastern religions held that one or more of their gods had died and came back to life; Hell, it's the founding principle in Christianity! Certain gods though are thought to have died and resurrected over and over again just like in your dream!”

“Really?” John asked.

“Really. Horus from Egypt, Quetzalcoatl from Mayan and Aztec mythology. It seems to be a recurring theme for sky gods. I guess the rising and the setting of the sun and moon do give a reflection of birth and death.” Andrew said, totally geeking out at this point. John paused for a moment trying to figure out how to phrase his question.

“Did they ever find a way to stop it?” he asked softly.

“Stop it?” Andrew laughed “Of course not! It's part of the infinite cycle of the universe! Even the Mayan calendar resets every few thousand years causing 'the end of the world' to happen. Remember 2012? Yeah, well, 'end of the world' is better translated as 'end of the age'. It's Quetzalcoatl dying and being reborn again.” Andrew paused and thought for a second. “Then again there's a competing myth that Quetzalcoatl got drunk, slept with his sister, then immolated himself and became the planet Venus, so who the heck knows what these people believed, am I right?” Big Jim squeezed himself out from behind the counter with two plates of food and plopped them onto the table with a ceramic “clatunkl” sound. He wiped his hands on his apron and said “ere'yar” turned around, gave a sigh and a grunt, squeezed back behind the counter and disappeared into the kitchen. Eating felt good. Like, really good, but it also hurt. John hadn't had food in a day or two and hadn't eaten anything substantial in about a week. He slowly and methodically cut his pancakes and forced them into his mouth, chewing each bite intently battling the combination of hunger pains and nausea that was arising in his stomach. After he downed his first pancake his stomach began to settle and he started feeling hungry again instead of starving. Andrew rattled on a while longer about sky gods and gods of death and the burial rituals of Malasia and Indonesia and other south Asian countries. John had somewhat tuned out and was solely focused on nourishing himself. He heard something and then Andrew stopped talking. John looked up.

“Sorry, what?” he asked. Andrew laughed

“I said you haven't said anything in a while. You must have been hungry.”

“It's been a while since my last meal...”

“Well, I'm glad I could help.” Andrew said. “Really, it's the least I could do. For all I know you saved my life! All this talk about death in other cultures and here we both are, living! It's a brand new day, eh?”

“I guess that's one way to look at it.” John said. He looked down on his plate, now empty except for the outer rim of a pancake and half a sausage. “I think I better stop.” He said. “My stomach isn't used to holding this much food. I don't want to give myself indigestion...” He rose from the table and extended his hand. “Thank you very much for breakfast.” Andrew shook his hand and stood up.

“My pleasure, again, it should be me thanking you.” Andrew reached into his wallet and dropped a twenty on the table to pay for the food. He grabbed one of his business cards from the inside pocket and handed it to John. “If you ever need anything, please call. I'd love to get together again for breakfast and talk about death. This was a real treat.”

“I will. Thanks.” John walked out of the diner and squinted in the direction of the rising sun. The horizon was golden purple with a brilliant seam rising from the Earth. John walked towards it, towards home, he knew the place he was staying was in that direction. The nature of his conversation with Andrew weighed heavily on his heart. “Is it forever?” he wondered. “Am I cursed to die and be reborn over and over until the end of time?” The word “reborn” didn't feel right. He wasn't being reborn he was being ripped from the jaws of death and unnaturally restored to life. John felt a little tired and thought he might actually be able to sleep. Normally his days were spent foraging enough money to buy food or booze or crack, meth, or whatever he wanted really, none of it had any lasting consequences. John had overdosed on heroin 3 times. All in all it's not the worst way to go; you get extremely dizzy and feel like your falling through the floor, then you get sick to your stomach and there's a tightness in your chest, but after that all you feel is sweet warm surrender and things go black. As John approached his street (again, that term is used fairly loosely) he was hit with a big yawn that would have been contagious if anyone else was around to see it. He walked towards the house, limbs and joints aching like he had a hangover and needed a cigarette. He went up the stairs and stepped through the broken screen door into the abandoned house he was staying at. The house was mostly empty except for a few end tables, some ugly curtains, and a twin mattress that lay on the living room floor. John went to kick off his boots when he realised he'd been walking in hospital surgical booties the entire morning. He slipped them off and walked towards the mattress. He dropped onto it and sleep took him almost instantly.