Oh, I agree. Overthinking's a terrible practice. I try not to think at all.

[Without preamble, he flops down on the bench beside him. He's at least respectful enough not to try and peek at the wish, even if he isn't respectful enough not to get in the personal space of a stranger.]

Graveyard, huh? I've always loved a good graveyard. Or a ruin. I like things where people used to be, but aren't anymore. Think of the stories you could make up. Even in death, strangers wonder about you and probably make you out to be more than you were, and there's something nice about that. Living on through shite people make up about you.