We were very much in love with the idea of being in a place that was really different from the rest

When we died
we went to Florida
and created a heaven
from orange peels
and costumes
discarded from Disney World.

In the off season,
we haunted Miami Beach,
ghosts among ghosts,
moldy parking garages
and half-flooded
apartment complexes.

In the summer,
you could drive down
the South Beach strip,
past the bodegas and dive bars, and discover
a world of color
and sex
and slow decay.

In the winter,
we pretended it snowed.

We were the weirdest group
we had ever seen.

We were like
a second family.

***

When we died in 2003,
the world was a different place. The Internet
was for the young.

We lived by codes
made up in Stanford
dorm rooms
over pizza and cheap beer.

We would go online.

We’d join a chat room.

We’d talk about the weather.

We’d talk about movies,
and our jobs,
and our jobs,
and our jobs.

Then we would get drunk
and pretend to fly
around the world.

The first place we went
was to the San Francisco
Museum of Modern Art,

then we flew
across the country
to Washington D.C.,
to the National Endowment
for the Arts.

For a while we were in Italy,
and for a while we were in Berlin.

It was really intense
because we couldn’t see anything,
just the other ghosts
trying to use Skype
in an Internet cafe.

One day, out of nowhere,
we were on Google Earth
and we saw a plane
sitting abandoned
in a secluded field.

We grew so excited
because we planned
on making that plane
our house.

We had never lived
in a plane, only apartments
with snoring dogs
and sniggering rats,
only apartments
in real bad shape,
half-flooded with seawater,
yet somehow still
worth a million dollars.

We were very much in love with the idea of being in a place that was really different from the rest