The Pooka

I've been working on this short story for awhile now, and I have restarted it a few times. It's about a young man who gets dragged along from one place to another by a man he wants to work for. The "boss" character has kind of a terrible day ahead of him when this kid shows up, including a doctor's appointment, a wake, and dealing with a wife who wants a divorce. It's an idea I've had for awhile, and I've got the big points figured out, but for some reason it's just not doing it for me yet. Here's the beginning:

The driver pulled the car up to a funeral home, and when Isaac saw the building, with its Corinthian columns and its name, “Famularo’s” written in gold script on the sign outside, he decided that this was the kind of place he would not like to end up when he died. The truth was, he didn’t have much interest in going inside even while he was alive, but he saw Anthony opening the door, gesturing for him to get out.
“What’s going on?” Isaac asked.
“A wake. Don’t Jews have wakes? It’s where you—you sit around a dead body and cry a little, and you visit with family.” Anthony gestured toward the ground, indicating that Isaac should be getting out of the car. Isaac obliged, because even now, six hours into their day together, Anthony Colucci still terrified him as much as he had when they first met.
As he followed Anthony inside, Isaac tried to explain how Jewish funerals work, getting confused looks when he mentioned the rending of clothing. Anthony silenced him when they came to the door. He turned toward him, his hand on the brass handle, and said, “Well, the way Catholics bury their dead is this: you have a wake, you have a funeral, you bury the body, and you go eat. That’s it.”
This, Isaac had come to realize over the course of the day, was the philosophy of Anthony Colucci: anything could be survived, as long as there would be food afterward.

I don't know, maybe I just need to write it until the end and then see what's working and what's not. Or maybe I need to ditch it altogether.