More Staring

Staring. Listening. Watching. My attire suits my surroundings; I blend in with the dark, gloomy neighborhood. Loud booming from afar warns of the coming rain. Should I go back for a raincoat? No, wandering requires nought. There is a man, however, that catches my attention. He runs as if he is an immovable force. Yet as he is running up Calloway, a bus turns onto Calloway. The implications of this action is that the man really isn't a movable force. Strange to think that life is so esily taken. As the man just lies on the ground, an ambulance comes asking for witnesses. Witnesses are only good if they are found. The cemetary is a good place to go. It has been a long time since I checked up on the number of graves. 52 days and 6 hours I believe. No, that is wrong. I was never good with time. Quiet seems inescapable here. I notice rows of graves. Other than the new ones, one thing stands out; a man is on a stone. Is he a new number? Observing him up close reveals a terrible odor. Yep, dead. Another one bites the dust.