In the warmth of the crematorium, Myles could feel the sweat pooling under his armpits. He knew that there would be visible stains there and so kept his arms tight at his sides. In the moments of silence that the service offered, he became conscious of his breathing. He held his breath to avoid breathing too loudly, only to then realise how odd a long exhale would appear and having to release it in shallow breaths. The priest’s words reached his ears, but he never took them in. He put his hands together when needed, stood and sat on cue, but his thoughts kept wandering. Would as many people turn out for his funeral? What would they say about him? It was a pity that he wouldn’t be able to write his own eulogy. He wouldn’t want this kind of service anyway, with everyone just looking at his coffin and being sad. The prayers went on too long as well, as though they were dragging it out just to throw a bit of faith at the non-believers.