I imagine in the afterlife that the dead sit on diner stools drinking endless cups of coffee.. and tipping poorly. Decked out in old small business tees, and dirty baseball caps. Discussing local politics; register republican for land tax breaks.. yadiya.
Until the tired waitress reminds them that's all been gone awhile now. And, they switch to nostalgia and envy and regret. All the oppurtunity checks they never cashed. Then again, they forget, and send back their homefries. Because they ordered onions on them.
Personally I think you're being too obvious here - it's like a woman turning up to a date in her underwear. You're too forward. You're not playing games with me. You're not teasing me, the reader. It's all there for me to **** already. And there's no fun in that. I like it kinky.