Harry pulled his collar to the wind and the damp, and squatted. Even his smoke had a hard time staying lit in this weather. He glanced at the other well-tended graves to the left and right.
“Waste of space. Should ‘ve let you out for the vultures.” He took the smoke out of his mouth and spat on the dirt mound. He stood up, ignored the popping sounds his knees made, dropped the cigarette, and stomped it with his foot.
“Sure took your sweet time dying. I thought you’d never give up.
“You thought right,” a voice behind him muttered.