Joey Mason lived in a small farming community at the end of a long, stony drive. The house backed onto an abandoned cemetery that saw its last burial at the turn of the century. In it, one could find scores of different gravestones. Some stones were whole, while others were broken down, decayed remains of past distinction-remnants of fieldstone, granite, and marble all on display from a long and forgotten past. This sacred resting place laying in disregard was Joey Mason's playground.