The Society of Necessity
/The advanced guard of a winter storm loomed on the horizon as I struggled to upright his fallen tombstone. The rose-colored granite resisted my first attempts to lift it back into place. Determined to see his name, I gave the ponderous stone one last heave and it slowly returned to its base – crooked and off-center, but upright, nonetheless. There, slightly discolored from resting the red North Carolina clay, I could now read his name.
“Hello, Henry,” I whispered into the wind. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
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