The weather's gone bad.

That sentence is stolen. Francesco Dellamorte utters it when setting foot outside his home at the cemetery where he works burying the dead and then later killing them again when they come back as undead. Maybe there's something with the soil, but no one is really sure why the dead come back to life. They just do. And Dellamorte simply kills them again. The good old-fashioned shot to the head does the job and that particular zombie is finally not a problem. And so life goes on and Dellamorte's somewhat unusual occupation turns into his everyday life. Just as repetitive as most people's lives. People die, get buried, rise from the grave and are sent back. Unusual, yes, but repetitive. The working man's curse. To steal yet another sentence, this time from Trent Reznor; I believe I can see the future, because I repeat the same routine.

And outside the sun is actually shining. What would you expect from someone who kills zombies for a living and considers the phonebook a literary classic?

And what would you expect from me? Not much I hope, because this is all you are getting this time.