Death in the City

Faxt, and Ted. Guys, this is Derek, and…”
“Oh, uh, Pestilence, War, and Famine,” said Death, pointing to each respective Horseman as they smiled and waved.
“Huh,” said Brian, swaying on the spot slightly, then turned to his greasy friends. “Come on into my room, guys. I got some great stuff for you.”
Death turned back to face the other Horsemen and said, “Listen, there is plenty to do in the city and we have all day ahead of us. Why don’t we just go out and start shopping? Then we can figure things out from there.” He stood looking at them with hopeful satisfaction, his eyebrows raised and arms outstretched. “What do you say?”
One by one grins broke across their faces and they nodded, and soon Death was leading them out the door, nearly jogging his way outside as they followed. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stood on the sidewalk, a full day of fun and relaxation ahead of them. Meanwhile, the human beings of the world had a day off from sickness, fighting, hunger, and of course from death itself.
Death led his old friends to the supermarket. He knew he had a paycheck waiting and, to his pleasure, he was able to cash in four hundred and fifty dollars. Pleased with his newfound knowledge of the monetary system, he gave each of them a hundred dollars and tossed the remaining fifty to the man standing outside the door, who laughed and danced at Death’s generosity. As the Horsemen began their day off, soldiers shook hands, the poorest of nations found food in the most obvious of places, and doctors and pharmaceutical companies worried about loss of income.
The four old friends found themselves in front of a large department store by the river and decided to go in. War immediately went to check out the leather bags and Famine was on the trail of some good looking girls while Pestilence and Death stuck together in the shoe department.
“Hm, cowboy boots,” said Pestilence, holding a pair of black boots with engraved silver toes up to the shine of the unnaturally white store lights. “I always did want to get a pair.”
“They’re kind of catching on here, but they’ve always been super popular in the southern and western United States,” said Death, proud of his newfound fashion sense.
“I’m not there often,” said Pestilence quietly, wistfully.
“Hey you two,” called War. He was walking towards them, his gut bulging out as his arms swung by his side. “You need to check out the deal on these bags, it is outrageous.”
“Okay, let’s go,” said Pestilence.
“Where’d Famine go?” asked Death. War proudly showed them a leather briefcase for only $85, which Pestilence ran his finger across admiringly.
“Nice, huh?” said War. “And this one here would match my hat.” He pulled at his top hat as a voice sounded from behind them.
“Hey guys, how’s it going?” It was Famine, walking up to his three friends, looking smug and holding a bag of salt and vinegar chips. “I found one of those vending machines by the bathroom, I can’t get enough of these chips. I had sour cream and onion, cheddar jalapeño, now I’m giving salt and vinegar a shot. So many different flavors. Who knew?”
“Come on, Famine, you must get some nice clothes,” said War, tugging at Famine’s burlap sack. Famine pushed his hand away and took a step towards Pestilence and Death.
“Well, obviously it doesn’t matter, because I just got this great-looking girl’s number.” He held up a small strip of paper that had seven digits scrawled across it. A horse-like smile barely visible under his ginger beard appeared on his face.
“What?” asked Pestilence. “How?”
“Guess she thought I was a looker,” said Famine, licking his index and pinky fingers on his right hand and running them across his eyebrows. “She was great. One of those hippies. Long hair, long orange dress.”
“Always on about the hippie girls,” said War.
“Of course,” said Famine. “They keep me in business. They’re always protesting genetically modified foods, and when it works none of the poor countries get any chow. They don’t realize that if it weren’t for the organic-only diet they’re pushing on the rest of the world, I wouldn’t even exist. They practically do my job for me, so I owe them one with my good looks and charm.” Pestilence chuckled as Death smiled at what a great time they were having.
The Four Horsemen strolled around the city, War holding his new black leather briefcase, under a sun that crossed the sky much too quickly. They found themselves talking almost constantly, not just about work but about trivial matters (Famine’s new girlfriend, War’s new purchase, Pestilence’s weekend in Burma) and laughing frequently. Death was the happiest he had been in a millennia.
“Can we go in there now?” asked Pestilence, pointing to a shoe store. “I really regret not getting those boots. It’s not like I’m spreading much disease in the South lately, especially since I stopped doing the big Yellow Fever scares. Might be my last chance in a while.”
“You three go, I want to check out that bathing suit store I saw,” said Famine.
“Oh, let me go with you, I’d love to try a few on,” said War.
Pestilence emerged from the store with a pair of two-toned black and brown boots, which came to $95. Famine bought three bags of chips, seven candy bars, three turnips, five jars of olives, and a pair of leather pants, which he wore proudly with his burlap sack now in a dumpster somewhere. Death bought a candy bar and a milkshake. He was so happy for his three friends that he did not even think to make his own purchases.
The four moved on, bragging about their purchases. Pestilence said he needed to break the boots in a little more before they would become very comfortable. Famine was excited about his new pants and his half-finished Flake Bar. War commented about how a nice leather bag could last decades, even during wartime. Above all, Death