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 4th Street Cemetery It was those walks through the graveyard that mattered, that and the donuts fresh baked at midnight.We could smell the sugar in the air all the way from the edge of the cemetery grounds, how everything was heavy with it— the leaves, the grass, even the limestone seemed to glisten with its shadings under the moon, making you want to touch them, stick your fingers in your mouth.The smell was so strong, our tongues swelled with longing, our stomachs throbbed and made us crazy, and we crept under weeping willows and cypress, passed headstones named Nutty and Brown just for the sugar, the chocolate and glazed.We swore we could hear whispers, dogs barking as if from behind us, muffled by death, dirt, and leaves. And sometimes mud stuck to our shoes, sucking the ground every time we lifted our feet, the sound almost of gasping breath, sure to wake those lying around us.We made sure to walk on edges, staying away from the thick mounds freshly dug. We wanted only to make it through the grass and death and night to the neon sign, to the sweetness. ...

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