"Hah!" That gets a surprised laugh from Rosario in turn. "Too many donuts is the kinda problem I can get with."
It's darker inside the cemetery, no streetlights or headlamps here, but it's still Brooklyn, and with clear skies and a full moon overhead they have no trouble finding their way. If you ignore the mausoleums and miniature obelisks – and that's easily done in the nighttime – they could as easily be heading into any city park. The path winds up the gently sloping hill and the drone of the traffic recedes amid the whisper and rustle of leaves. Gravity's pulling at the backpack on her shoulder, but Rosario's walk is unencumbered. In the real world, she's got bigger problems than excess donuts – they both do – but here and now the real world, like the parkway traffic, feels just a little removed, and she's happy to keep it that way.
"How 'bout here," she suggests. They're reaching the top of the hill. It probably has a name – every little corner of the cemetery's got its own name, fairytale-sounding appellations like Whispering Vale and Verdant Slope and Sylvan Dell, the kind of names you give to distract people from all the decomposing corpses underneath their feet – but Rosario can't see the signpost in the dark. Doesn't matter, anyway: what's important is that it's got a decent clearing and a good view of the sky.