Ghost Riders On the Bus

Taking a stroll the other day, I came upon a street where there was a half-mile stretch of nothing but graveyards on both sides. Halfway up the stretch, there was a city bus stop sign, the only one on that side of the street. Yet, the entrance to the cemetary was still another some 200 yards away. If 90-something Margit was going to visit her beloved, departed Heinrich, you'd think the bus stop would go right to the entrance, not overshoot it by that much.

More mysterious still, it is called "Bohemian National Cemetary," yet Jack Kerouac's tombstone is nowhere in sight.

Something creepy is afoot here.