I can’t get that cemetery out of my head. The tragedy and nobility of Michael Folland’s life can’t be ignored.

Right now, at this moment, I feel the tragedy of so many that are my contemporaries. That I’m not in a graveyard like Glendale is merely attributable to my birth year and a high lottery number (129).

I do so want to forget. So much. That, in this moment, I am married to J. Where is a woman, half my age, with a sense of play and appreciation for a “Senior Citizen”? Fatuous conjecture, to be sure.