Fieldtrip to the Graveyard
I kind of knew something was about to happen when I found obituary clippings hidden under the comfortable pillows at the warehouse. The names on the generic typed-font eulogies meant nothing to me, and I was uncertain if they held anything for Zillah either. It was when I saw the familiar spikey dreadlocks and a slack-jawed face of the Professor buried in the crowded streets of London, I knew that the time was now. The crowd hid me well as I slid through, avoiding elbows and glances, and I followed them to the edge of town. What were those large knapsacks on their shoulders for? It wasn't like Zillah to carry alot of weight around, he probably thought it marred his lean frame. When they walked through the iron-wrought gates of the local cemetery, it became harder to disappear in the crowd without being seen. I let their gentle shoves carry me along the avenue. A confident smirk filled my face because I knew where my targets were heading. Waiting a few minutes, I turned back ar