YOU AND YOUR boyfriend go to a lot of funerals. Friends, friends of friends, relatives, people you both only barely knew from the office. Your favorite bartender dies. The bagger at the grocery store dies. The waitress who gives bad service at your favorite restaurant dies. You and your boyfriend go to all the funerals. It seems like you dry-clean your suit every week. The weather refuses to turn gloomy; it’s unusually sunny and warm for spring, you sweat through your shirt every time you walk from the small stone church to the overfull graveyard. When the mailman dies, you stop getting invitations to the funerals because there’s no one to deliver them. Instead people rely on social media. Social media will outlive all of us, your boyfriend says at one funeral. But soon after that, social media dies. You and your boyfriend agree to skip all future funerals, but later you catch him hanging out at the small stone church, wearing a freshly cleaned suit, waiting for the next funeral to start. You stay for that funeral, and the next one, but you’ll be damned if you spend any more money dry-cleaning that suit.