I don’t know how I’d ended up here. Or were exactly _here_ is.
But at some point between making my way back from, my girl, Maisee’s house on a bike I’d passed by a graveyard. A bit morbid, but especially in the dead of night, but I needed this right now.
I needed anywhere but home.
So now I was wandering from gravestone to gravestone, reading names and final messages:
_Ida Earlston, 1866 - ...
