Autopsy Stories

“Dude, you gotta see this,” Pat said. “Fresh meat.” I rolled my eyes. There were several ways of coping with being constantly surrounded by death and putrefaction, the perks of working in the morgue-slash-autopsy of the forensics department. Pat just had this way of calling me over for every new delivery, as I called them, with the excitement of a kid on its eighth birthday party piñata. I had to cut him some slack, thoug...