“I’ve just been thinking about all these buildings that get left behind. And then someone else moves in, and it’s like having people put their own skin on your skeleton and expecting you to be fine with it.” She picks up the coffee cups and comes into the front room, hands one to Janey. “I felt like, really, I should be allowed to go in and touch all her stuff.” “Hmm,” says Janey, accepting the cup. “I don’t like that.” She looks around the room. “I guess that’s how ghosts must feel.”
