With a coffee and a smile, Connie sat in Detroit's Lakeview park and admired the iced patterns on the water. Pockets of frustrated air rolled back and forth under the surface, denied release, while the reeds sheathing the bank strained toward the morning glow.

She found herself alone and content, while her mind processed recent experiences and interactions. Often in this situation, involuntary vocalization would occur, that is to say she would voice her thoughts to ease the pressure on her brain. One such experience was her witnessing a funeral procession, abundantly attended by Detroit residents, steadily pursuing the last journey a significant figurehead of the Corktown district would make. 

"Such lethality."

Presently, her thoughts were on the mortality of individuals involved in this life. Or at least the life she had been exposed to while in America. The finality of it all was bearing down on her like a question she could not answer. Culmination of her own ordeals, death was no stranger, and yet the notion had only now began to irritate her understanding of the world.   

"There appears to be no compromise." She mused. It was a valid observation. When a weapon is discharged and the aim is true, the target is greeted with their demise. No opportunity for recovering, no scars to haunt their remaining days. Termination.

Contemplation then twisted, contradicting her initial conclusion and landing her with two differing opinions. 

"Or perhaps there is, however every instance I witness a person bearing the same identity as one which has fallen, an obituary has by that time been printed. Burial service indulged and grieving acquaintances hosted." Her breath was visible in the chilled air. 

Connie began to conjure a question in her mind. It migrated to her mouth where it lingered on her tongue. She broke the serene silence of the park with a closing thought.

"It seems absurd to suggest otherwise, though, would the people of this world like to experience a less mortiferous exchange? In the context of our circumstances, could there be capacity for some complexity to our mortality?"

He had been in and out of pockets all day and decided to have a rest. He perched against a wall and pulled his hat down. Scanning for his next victim, when he noticed a family member talking. He listed intently scribbling down some words. He looked around and found a bookshop. He darted in and handed over some money and came out with a dictionary. He nodded and flicked through a few more pages and nodded some more. 

Dear Connie what an interesting subject. I mean let's be honest nobody really wants to die, I mean I would love to live forever but one's things for certain in our world or theirs is that at some point it will all come to an end. Although life expentency for us is a lot shorter than the common man or woman. 

Now I'm new around these part but I've read enough to know how it all works all in all you live until someone with a bigger gun decides they want to end it. The only way to prolonging the inevitable is by talking. 

Whether it's in the streets, back alleys, bars or coffee shops the more you talk the more information you will gather and the more you will find how people work. You maybe able to see some situations coming and defuse them or may have to go the other way and become the aggressor. People will warm to you the more you talk and may give you valuable bits of of information that might save your life but may also endanger your life.  All in all its good to talk. 

Truly understands Connies all words but he also thnks of dog eat dog temr that many seems to build up there MR-way into.

Watching all graves are really a big work and take long time and LonelyWolf did his best and pay attention to many great and hen started his nightly lonely adventure-work again out on MR