Ghost-town.
On coming home, digging up skeletons and learning to lie with them.
My hometown lies smack-dab in the middle of a valley. It’s a soup-bowl filling with more and more people by the year, carved out of the Dark Peak over millennia. There are two winding roads that dip out of each side (the Snake Pass and Woodhead, that veer off towards Manchester and Sheffield respectively) scooping up city folk…