It was a cold and rainy November 1st in 2003. I was in a crowded public cemetery, and the place was littered with
wilting flowers, melting candles, and people carrying containers of food and a plethora
of plastic chairs as if they were heading to a Sunday picnic or
preparing for the apocalypse. The wind had a dizzying smell--a
concoction of smoke, sweat, wet grass, ketchup-doused spaghetti, and
possibly, rotting corpses. The ground was sticky with mud and small
puddles of water were in every corner of the cemetery like dangerous
open manholes on main roads.
stories about eccentric people, good food, cheap travel, strange things, and unfamiliar territories.
