He huddled inside his wool coat and stared with disbelief. He would have never guessed…He hadn’t heard. But it made sense as to why the man would’ve come.

On the slate-gray headstone, it read:

HERE LIES GABRIEL H . TAYLOR

It had no date; presumably, they didn’t know when Gabriel was born or when he even died. He must’ve carried the body here himself, then, He thought, stirring up memories. But not much was known about him other than that, of course.

He sighed and adjusted his scarf, sitting cross-legged before the grave. He took a small card and slid it between the petals of the slowly wilting flowers. There. Now the man would know He’d been here, if he came back.

He sighed again and stood, walking away into the quiet of Central Park. He would sleep there for the night.