The epitaph hunter examined all the tombstones in the park. He hoped to find a message that he could market on his web site. A few were good but none that he could use.
He had been hunting for epitaphs all over Dover since morning and his throat was parched. He went in to the pub for a beer. “Nothing tastes better than a cold beer on a beautiful afternoon with nothing to look forward to than more of the same – now who said it?”
A couple on the next table was talking of the cherry blossoms that looked like snow.
He remembered an epitaph and could not help smiling – I am all dressed up with nowhere to go – thanks to snow and beer.