Excerpt of Don Ianelli
"The matte gray sky and the worn faces of angels stood witness to the dark procession trudging solemnly through the pouring rain. Like a chain gang being led to their prison cells, heads down, feet shuffling in unison, each gripping an umbrella save for a distinct group of men at the front, the members of the procession were silent in their death parade. Floating along heavily on the shoulders of the men leading the group lay a gleaming black casket, silver handles clanking rhythmically against its side as they marched on through the cold pelting raindrops. A heavy burden to bear. Support and strength they would receive no thanks, no gratitude for. But they marched on down the path twisting and turning, weaving through headstones and mausoleums."