I'm almost used to the quiet, the eerie, dead quiet of what used to be a somewhat bustling urban center, though it was in squalor before
they came and wiped out even the friendly bipolar man that frequented my coffee shop at the end of the block. I guess diseased brain tastes as good as regular brain; zombies do not discern much when it comes to
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I don't want to be eaten. I want to live to tell this tale, involving leaf green eyes, with a hint of lime.
This key lime pie has gone bad but I find myself hungry...
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It is great to finally have human contact!
Most of the costumers I see daily are zombies.
They're a strange breed, though. While they do like their brains, they prefer to drink it with quality Columbian coffee.
Snobs.
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