text: George was unable to shake the smell. However long he stood staring into the sandstone embedded letters, it remained. Yet the memory of a dear friend persisted. So he remained. George picked up the crumbled piece of stone that laid near the broken gravesite. Rolling it in his hands, he couldn’t make out if it had fallen from old age or was done purposely. Overlooking the grave, he could see the wear and tear of time. The dying blades of green appeared shriveled underneath the weight of the death and decay lingering in the air. His gaze soon fell upon another couple that had come to pay their respects. He watched as they walked hand in hand, garbed in curious attire, towards a smaller site. They sat upon the bench and gently laid a single purple rose alongside a peculiar toy of some fashion. He silently wished them the peace that had escaped him long before. Turning back towards the grave, George placed his hand on the withered headstone and prayed. The hum of industry droned lowly nearby. His breath laboured to pick out clean air as he finished his recitation. George began to walk towards the exit of the graveyard, gait hindered, but he pressed forward. Reaching the stone walkway, he glanced around. Bright, glaring lights littered the streetways. Carriages of iron rushed this way or that, coughing up soot and dark smoke. A familiar scent found him treading towards a smaller shop off the stone path. He approached the door and read the sign above the business, “Java Coffee”. He remembered coffee. George placed his hand on the door handle and pulled. He was met with a heavy scent of coffee rushing out to greet him. Upon the walls of the establishment were portraits of various libations, plants hanging from pots, and a strange, loud box. Upon further glance, he saw that the box contained images of color and peoples speaking of recent happenings all dressed similarly. He found himself a seat with an empty table and stared, transfixed, at the portrait box. A maiden of age came to the table. “What can I get you today, sir?” Before he could think of any response, she quickly glanced at him before exclaiming, “OH! Lucky day for you, ain’t it? We are actually giving all seniors a free coffee of their choice today. Celebrating the re-opening, ya know?” She looked towards the sign above the counter before adding, “Been rough trying to make it lately, what with the bank on my heels and the bigger companies pushing people like me around. Even having to do these free specials just to get traffic. But hey, it’s better than being on the streets, huh?” She gave a half-hearted laugh before turning back towards George. “So, is a coffee good? Will you have anything else, sir?” “That would be lovely, madam. I thank you.” George gave a small bow of his head towards the maiden. A few minutes later she came back with a steaming mug of black coffee. George finally read the lettering upon her apron. “You are a gracious, humble woman. Thank you, Kathy.” “It’s my pleasure. Let me know if you need anything else.”, she said as she began to walk towards the back of the shop. George’s gaze once again fell upon the loud, colorful box. After some time he realized it was speaking of recent events. A living news-letter! He had a sip of his coffee and gasped. Such flavor! Hardly had he tasted such a thing. As the night passed on, he watched all the transpiring of the living news-letter. Such times! Many states had now composed as United, yet each had hardships of measure in which they lacked the capacity to afford aid. George watched in solemnity. A trust in governance broken. A land ravaged by tumultuous weather. A people filled with vitriol hate, divided. Warnings unheeded. Checks and balances breached. Yet the people endure. The hour had reached past dusk and his mug had dried what black was left at the bottom. George reached into his pockets and took three of the silver coins within and placed them upon the table. Each read “Georgius Triumpho”. He walked out of the establishment and towards the cemetery once more. The moon shone brightly and exposed the exquisite craftsmanship of newly placed headstones. A backdrop of crumbled, decrepit graves silently sat, awaiting maintenance and assistance. George soon came upon a stone bench. Fatigue had taken him and his mind raced with worried thoughts of his countrymen. Sitting within the moonlight, he grasped towards his heart and felt a calmness begin in his hands. Spreading from arms to legs, torso to head. A bell could be heard ringing from both near and far. The bench was shown to be barren and filled with moonlight once more. Awaiting the bell to feel warmth once more.