The Ministering Assistants to The Angels Of Death

Its been an odd day. My little shop has yielded me less than the wage of a sweatshop slave in Bangalore, and, naturally, thoughts turn to the morbid and morose.
Off to Joes, then, once the whistle has sounded, only to find myself sat beside-
Joe; Mechanic, Car Salesman, Sometime Courier (Im sure he knows the river Styx well), and Assistant Undertaker.
P. (who shall remain nameless and faceless- after all, we only ever need to see Le Visage d'Mort only once). P is the towns Chief Bodyplanter in the Bonegarden up the hill.
An associate, the Lady Mai, a woman of her times, and a legend as a result.
A little private joke in the maw of the inevitable....The Child and I parked in front of P.'s place of business one day.
"He's finished in the toilet, then", I said to her.
"Speak English, Daddy, or I will have to walk home."
"Look at the sign, over the funeral home- P. Dunne."
She laughed, a lot, eventually, and I offered it up in apology to the original Donne.
If you dont get this, get with it and get literate.