Life among the dead
On most mornings, Emmitt Watson rises before the sun and walks the 44 steps out his front door to the wrought-iron gates of the San Francisco Columbarium to start his day.
“Good morning, y’all!” he hollers into the darkened rotunda, the words echoing off the marble and glass of the thousands of niches holding an estimated 65,000 cremated remains. He hustles around the circular parameter, turning on the lights while greeting more of the Columbarium residents by name.
“Morning, Dorothy. Morning, Ms. Jackson. Morning, Mr. Kirk. Morning, Mr. Storyteller. Morning, Stewart. Morning, Pascal.”
It’s a tradition he said he began after he “started to respect the people in the building.”
“That’s their house,” he says, nodding to the dead.
Read the story here.