Rock's father Richard accompanied him to his cousin Jill's funeral. They arrived a few minutes late and were consequently last in a line that extended far into the mezzanine of the large arena. At least hundreds of people were there, perhaps a thousand or more.
Rock knew how Richard's mind worked and had no doubt he relished their position. Entering the arena last, just before the service began, had the potential to add a bit of grandeur to his appearance. As for Rock, he hoped against hope more people would arrive.
Almost at the moment that thought formed, he saw a group of ten or more men walk into the lobby and toward them in line. They were in their twenties and thirties, each dressed in ill-fitting, ragtag suits, and even more wonderfully from Rock's perspective, each of them were carrying large cans or bottles of mini-mart beer, Miller and Budweiser and the like. To his delight, Rock knew immediately that a great story had brewed.
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