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He’ll never be seen again, I thought, and hurried through the alht streets

My taxi, which I couldn’t afford, but I was daraveyard alone, pulled up in front of the ceates at three minutes before the hour

I spent a long twoall those crypts and monuments where Green Glades Park employed some nine thousand dead folks, full time

They have been putting in their hours there for fifty years Ever since the real-estate builders, Sam Green and Ralph Glade, were forced into bankruptcy and leveled their shingles and planted the tombstones

Sensing there was a great piece of luck in their naalow court builders became simply Green Glades Park, where all the skeletons in the studio closets across the ere buried

Film folks involved with their shady real-estate scaentleuilt, and ramshackle crime was buried with their first interment

And now as I sat clenchingmy teeth, I stared at the far wall beyond which I could count six safe, wares where the last All Hallows revelries were ending, the last wrap parties wrapping up, the

Seeing the cars’ light bea all the so-longs and goodnights, I suddenly wanted to be with the nowhere, but nowhere was better than this

Inside, a graveyard clock struck ht

“Well?” someone said

I felt my eyes jerk away from the far studio wall and fix to my driver’s haircut

He stared in through the iron grille and sucked the flavor off his Chiclet-sized teeth The gate rattled in the wind, as the echoes of the great clock died

“Who,” said the driver, “is going to open the gate?”

“Me!?” I said, aghast

“You got it,” said the driver