He looked like a walking corpse. Appropriately, they called him “The Dead Man.” Clad in black and grey, he slowly stalked his way down the aisle. Disturbing organ music played. The camera panned to the distraught face of a young child, no more than five or six. If I was there, instead of watching on TV, that distraught face could have been mine.
“Coming down the aisle … from Death Valley, weighing 328 pounds, The Undertaker!”
Quickly, the camera pans to his evil, staring eyes as tears form in mine: the face haunts my dreams for…