“You know why they always have a fence around the graveyard?” my grandpa asked me.
A brittle October afternoon flashed past outside the truck windows.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because people are just dying to get in!”
Neither of us laughed. As we passed the cemetery, we surveyed all the corpses pressed against the wrought-iron fence, collapsed there after getting this far under their own steam. A few that had managed to get inside industriously dug their own graves, anywhere they could find the space.
There was no sign of the cemetery attendants.
Soberly, Grandpa said, “Guess that fence wasn’t enough.”
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