Miles finds Bass standing on the sidewalk at the intersection, staring off into space. The light turns green and the people walk around him, not sparing more than a glance at the immobile man. The light turns red and cars swoosh by, barely more than a blur; a light layer of snow falls from the sky, Baptizing everything in angelic white.
"Bass," Miles makes his presence known, as he joins him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're worried about," Bass says monotonously, eyes dead ahead.
"Well, that's good to know," Miles deadpans, lost for words.
"I thought it would give me closure, coming here," Bass says with a shake of his head. "Stupid, huh? Like there's something special about where it happened, where they died. But there isn't- it's just a street, nothing special or meaningful about it. You can't even tell that four people died here a week ago."
"Five people," Miles corrects unhelpfully.
"Right," Bass says, his eyes darkening. "I wish the bastard hadn't died, so I could kill him myself. They say he died on impact- he should have suffered for what he did, fucking drunk driver."
"We should probably get going," Miles suggests. "Before we get covered in so much snow, people think we're snowmen."
Bass nods, looking at the area one more time. "It's crazy, isn't it? People can just drive by and never even know what happened here. No monument or sign, nobody cares about a few people who died in a car accident."
"I care," Miles says quickly. "The people who knew them, care. We don't need a monument to remember them."
"I guess not," Bass agrees, wiping his eyes with his gloves; he turns his back on the flashing traffic lights and follows Miles to his car, staying close to him for warmth.