[Francis lets out a soft sigh as he finishes cleaning up the grave markers. Mostly it was just pulling any weeds he noticed, and making sure that any dead flowers near the graves were removed. It made them look nicer. And somehow, he felt like those there would have appreciated it, even if he hadn't known them. And he was sure that those he knew would have appreciated it. Most of them, at least.

Now he was sitting quietly on one of the benches in the middle, facing toward the outer gate, and toward the markers for his Nation friends who had been there and had left. He debates pulling out a cigarette, then decides against it; now it's just a time of reflection, contemplation. He's not sure why he's lingering so long, he normally goes back home for a few hours before going to work. But now, he feels like this is where he needs to be at the moment. ]