Blog like it's the end of the world
Jun. 13th, 2007 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabotabbyGod. What a shite morning. I live on a third-floor apartment (which has its advantages—zombies, like Daleks, fail at stairs) but I still had to dispatch my landlady, her kids, and several repair-zombies with a shovel before I even got out of the house today. And you try doing that after only one cup of coffee.
My neighbourhood was eerily silent, making the occasional groan of distant undead hordes even creepier. The park across the street was empty. A few unfortunates tried to barricade the church, but that only works against vampires, so it looked like they were pretty much screwed. I tried not to think about it much.
College St., though, was packed. College St. is always packed, whether it's a beautiful summer evening or the dawn of the global zombie uprising. Yuppie mothers pushing strollers devoured their children's brains. Hordes spilled out of Café Diplomatico, shambling over patio tables and umbrellas. Reanimated corpses attacked iPod-wearing joggers and business jerks yammering into their cellphones.
I couldn't tell if the epidemic had spread to the Starbucks at the corner. Customers and baristas alike growled at each other, slack-jawed and vacant, just like any other morning.
The streetcar, as usual, was late. It came roaring around the corner with rabid fury, the windshield and bumper splattered with remains, plowing through zombies too slow to get out of the way. It stopped; a zombie SUV ignored the flashing lights and drove right through anyway. Fucking SUV drivers. I guess I was lucky to get a streetcar at all, given the lack of adequate funds for public transit.
What's that you ask? Why was I taking the TTC to work in the midst of a zombie apocalypse? I suppose it's the insidious nature of capitalism: I'm out of sick days, and there's a pile of work to do, and taking yet another day off is just going to make my boss want to eat my brains more.
So how was your morning?
My neighbourhood was eerily silent, making the occasional groan of distant undead hordes even creepier. The park across the street was empty. A few unfortunates tried to barricade the church, but that only works against vampires, so it looked like they were pretty much screwed. I tried not to think about it much.
College St., though, was packed. College St. is always packed, whether it's a beautiful summer evening or the dawn of the global zombie uprising. Yuppie mothers pushing strollers devoured their children's brains. Hordes spilled out of Café Diplomatico, shambling over patio tables and umbrellas. Reanimated corpses attacked iPod-wearing joggers and business jerks yammering into their cellphones.
I couldn't tell if the epidemic had spread to the Starbucks at the corner. Customers and baristas alike growled at each other, slack-jawed and vacant, just like any other morning.
The streetcar, as usual, was late. It came roaring around the corner with rabid fury, the windshield and bumper splattered with remains, plowing through zombies too slow to get out of the way. It stopped; a zombie SUV ignored the flashing lights and drove right through anyway. Fucking SUV drivers. I guess I was lucky to get a streetcar at all, given the lack of adequate funds for public transit.
What's that you ask? Why was I taking the TTC to work in the midst of a zombie apocalypse? I suppose it's the insidious nature of capitalism: I'm out of sick days, and there's a pile of work to do, and taking yet another day off is just going to make my boss want to eat my brains more.
So how was your morning?
