Bad business last night. Chances are, that would be all Graham had to say about the death of a man he had known his whole life. These folk knew all about death. They killed their own livestock. They died from fevers, falls, or broken bones gone sour. Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn't talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.

You know that feeling when you tip your chair too far and begin to fall backward? The sensation was something like that, mixed with self recrimination and the fear of death.

My granda always told me that fall's the time to root up something you dont want coming back to trouble you. Autumn...Autumn's the time. In autumn, everything is tired and ready to die.

I guess I'm doomed to die loveless.