I glance to the road behind me, which runs parallel to the graveyard. A black sports car is parked haphazardly, the front wheels mounting the edge of an old tombstone. The initial shock loses its grip on my shoulders, leaving room for another feeling. Panic. The last person I should be standing on an edge of a cliff with is a man who parks like that. Because if he has no respect for the dead, then he certainly doesn’t respect the living. Maybe he’s the grim reaper?
