We go to the grave alone, I guess.
In honor of Nancy, here are some pictures I did about the grave.
I recall the eulogy from The Loved One by Evelyn Waugh
They told me, Francis Hinsley, they told me you were hungWith red protruding eye-balls and black protruding tongue;I wept as I remembered how often you and IHad laughed about Los Angeles and now ’tis here you’ll lie;Here pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore,Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost nor gone before.
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