I've been conducting a "stoic experiment" for the past two days - I'll tell you about it - that took me in the evening to the Trouville Cemetery, which I'd never been to before and which, contrary to what the sign said, was still open. Or badly closed.
I walked around it. Bigger than I imagined (Trouvillais do nothing but die) and very peaceful.
And since, on my way there, it aso walked through the parc of the retirement home, it inspired me, on the way back, these lines that could be the beginning of a novel:
The cemetery is up there, at the edge of town.
The nursing home is next to the cemetery.
The slum borders the nursing home.
The public school is in the middle of the slum.
Mr. Grandpierre is the principal of the public school.
And that morning, the new mayor came to see Mr. Grandpierre.
I'll let you write the rest of it, I'm busy. Cheers.