It’s about 400 meters around: a big, black mound of bodies buried under the dirt. The police can gather and stare at it, and call what they’re doing “an investigation,” but none of the contents will ever be itemized, because everyone who gets too close is immediately sucked beneath the surface of the soil to join the party. (Please note that, here, by the word party, I don’t mean “a social gathering of invited guests which involves eating, drinking, and entertainment,” but rather “a group of deceased people forming one side in a dispute against the living.”) In this way, it’s much like the Bermuda Triangle. Let’s go down and have a look. . . .
Mmm, take a breath and smell that fresh decay. There’s nobody left to interview, down here. Nobody who can talk, I mean. Their mouths are all stuffed with ash, and they’re wrapped in ornate shrouds and dead and bloated. I think the fumes are making me intoxicated.
Anyway, what the public-private partnership proposes for this site is to build a highway over the top.
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