The cemetery gates were in sight when she heard another voice.
“Got bored?”
It was a man, sitting on the lip of one of the tombs. He had curly hair and a curly beard, both the color of lead — a shade that could have been gray or black. He was short, wiry, with shoulders that bulged in his t-shirt and veins that bulged on his forearms. She couldn’t guess his age; as he smiled, deep grooves descended from his eyes, but he was also ferociously tanned.
“Something like that,” Alicia said.
He stepped forward, held his palm open. She took a step forward, too.
It was a stick of gum.
“I don’t take candy from strangers.”
“Ha,” he said, and winked at her. He stuck the gum in his mouth and the wrapper in the pocket of his painter’s pants. “You’re a tourist.”
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