It was a warm sunny spring morning. everything was blooming. the smell of cherry blossoms was in the air. It was another easy day at the old cemetery. as always, every first Friday of the month I came to the cemetery. having walked along the familiar row of many lopsided crosses and monuments, I found my gravestone. The funny and slightly sad face of a freckled teenage boy looked at me. I looked around the cemetery. - “How boring it is here. Did someone come to see me?” - I looked around