But inquiring minds want to know. Max wants to know. For example what of Charon? Late-night on a Thursday night such as this, though not under the stars. How many more trips has he made across since you last thought of him? An old man by all accounts, working 24/7 one assumes, no union protection that I've heard of, wearing only an old cloak - a hoodie, probably, like cousin death, sans scythe.
Married? I wonder. Doubtful. Long hours and serious lack of mixers in the Underworld. Still, fer chrissakes, even Typhon had a wife, and he had a hundred dragon heads. Charon perhaps allows himself a moment to revel in the sweet misery of the irony and unfairness of it all. Still, it's a steady job.
Maybe a dim lantern hanging from a stick at the stern of the boat, but otherwise dank and dark. Not cold, I suppose, but still...
Only the sounds of tiller or pole in water. In-Ancheron as it were - and the incessant whining of the damned damned in the bow. Could they not just shut the hell up for once? He supposes not.
Pay is easy - just take the coins out of the mouths of passive passengers; all must pay or sit on the shore for 100 years. But where to spend? What to buy? Where to sup? Is there a Cafe Styx on the far shore? For employees only? Inquiring minds want to know.
Does Hermes bring him an occasional flask of Lethe Latte to help fade the unpleasant memories of that fat lady passenger yesterday? Last month? Last eon? One hopes. But deep inside one knows there is no Hermes or anyone else to remember old Charon. Maybe the infrequent odd blogger. Otherwise just endless lines of lost souls and no motor on the boat.
Inquiring minds want to know.
On top of all that endless rowing and remembering... does Charon also have to feed the dog?