There’s a graveyard. It’s enormous. I sweep over the top of it, as if I’m a bird in flight. I pass hills, rivers, woodland, but after each obstruction the graveyard continues. It seems to be endless.
I swoop low, and my vision focuses on a cluster of headstones on top of a grassy mound. I stop dead. In front of me is inscribed ‘Razors’. Next to it is your resting place, my friend − you are there, too. As is everyone you thought you knew.