Old people zombies are really scary. I used to think old people were kind of scary, anyways. Nothing against them, really, but they always gave me the heebie-geebies or something. I used to worry about becoming old, and now I’m proud of myself with every moment I’m not one of them. Today I took out an old lady wearing pink fuzzy slippers with gore all over them. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight… hence this late post. There’s a hierarchy of scary ghouls that roam around phoenix: children zombies are probably the most disconcerting, since naturally you don’t want to take them out, or at least I don’t. Next would probably be the disabled, then old folks, then standard run of the mill monsters. Sympathy is a dangerous luxury here. I try to keep what I can, and hold it hostage under a supply of anger and rage. Certain types of zombies provide ironic satisfaction. Trendy zombies are particularly amusing to me. It’s interesting to see the remnants of a person’s disintegrating identity clinging to their rotting, ambling corpse, bereft of the human condition. I feel like I have been witness to the great equalizer: preppy high school students, suit and tie business men, juicy couture wearing housewives, all gathered together in the same hoard, devouring the flesh of the living.