The dead scatter the parts of their sum after death, casting themselves onto the bodies of the unsuspecting living.
Strangers become conduits for the memory of the deceased.
For me, half an hour after a stranger finishes a Chesterfield behind a shot of Cutty Sark, I can smell my father's reproaches. Every other bald neck revives a passion for a lover seen forever for the last time, leaving me to climb the hills of Brazil. This phenomenon can occur between people who have never met. It happens most often with dead rock stars. Consider that you were 10 or 15 or even 20 when you were first beguiled by the movement of a man's hips.