S A N T I A G O

The dead were always loud, but it was worse in a public setting. so many people gathered with spirits attached to them like puppets on a string. Ghosts were exhausting because no one ever left this plane with their life tied up in a neat little bow. That's the thing about dying--no one's ever ready. They always have something dire left to be said or done, and as soon as they knew she could see them, they chained themselves to her like anchors to an unfit life raft. It felt like drowning, except it wasn't water she was choking on, it was a tsunami of everyone else's grief. It had been stupid to come, but she was trying not to be a hermit. So much for that, since she was already off at the edge of the lot where it was more quiet. She could hear the games and rides playing over the distant crowd as she dug through her purse, looking for a lighter to smoke her joint. Someone struck the bell on the strength game really hard with the hammer and all the lights went off, blasting celebratory music. Isa angled her purse into the momentary brightness to confirm what she already knew.