• I found out fairly early on that Death does not actually go around in a hooded black robe. Nor does he tend to lurk around every corner or in dark alleys or the cold bottom of the ocean or anywhere else you would expect Death to lurk. He doesn't ride a whit horse, which I found sort of disappointing. I was expecting a lot from Death, and I found Death to be somewhat lacking.

    For starters, Death's wardrobe isn't all doom and gloom and enormous black cowls like a KKK member that's had a horrific laundry accident. Death prefers argyle sweater vests like my uncle George used to wear, white shirts with crisp collars, and for some weird reason skinny jeans.

    Second, Death would rather approach you on a well-lit street for a polite hello and an invitation to coffee. He finds dark alleys to old fashioned and lurking around corners makes him feel like a stalker, or so he claims. He's been slapped more than once for his trouble but it hardly seems to faze him. Death is nothing if a gentleman, and a persistent one at that.

    Thirdly and perhaps more bothersome than being asked to coffee by Death, is his distinct lack of equine transportation. I grew up thinking Death rode a white horse. That was just how the stories went, every single one that my mom told me had Death riding a white horse. As it turns out white horses are impractical and Death would much rather take the city bus. At least, that's what Death tells me when I try to get him to talk about it. I'm not so convinced.

    Most of these things are things Death has told me himself. For one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse Death is surprisingly forthcoming. However, I also happen to know without him telling me that:
    - Death drinks coconut soy lattes /with/ cinnamon and God help you if they're not soy.
    - Death does laundry on /Tuesdays/ and picks up his dry cleaning on /Wednesdays/.
    - Death carries a black and orange duct tape wallet.
    - Death reads Cosmo when he's standing in line at the supermarket on Friday nights.
    - Death likes the smell of sandalwood and vanilla candles, and
    - Death happens to be terrible at calculus. Turns out that's just not something you need to know to be an apocalyptic herald. Who knew.