Prompt 11: Cemetery. Not from any particular book.
O'Malley sat heavily on the carved marble bench. He closed his eyes, reveling in the quiet, the lack of headache. He felt calm in the town cemetery. There were few people. No ghosts—human spirits were for the living. The cadre of buggerups that followed him respected his need for quiet. Even the Purple Hippo of Happiness left him alone.
He rolled a cigarette, taking a drag, savoring the taste and smell of his favorite tobacco. If he could, he'd stay here. But he needed to eat and Wolfe'd come looking. So, far too soon, he'd leave, braving the pain again.