zfreelance | Jan. 21st, 2009

Last night I had a 28 Days Later kind of dream where the zombies buried themselves in the dirt to escape daylight, and I emerged from the dirt, myself, out in front of an old abandoned Winn Dixie, right before nightfall. Some twisted Caliban-looking guy was there to cackle madly at me, and I was having some kind of epiphany about zombies, like becoming one was the easy way or something. Because I could not run (as it is with all dreams) I grabbed a shopping cart and rode that like a scooter across the massive stadium-sized parking lot (which was properly creepy-looking, with those giant bowl light posts and cracked asphalt and crumpled newspapers) to an Eckards. Or maybe it was a Walgreens. Anyway, it had a handwritten sign that said, "Last Drug Store For 60 Miles!" and all its florescent lights were burning bright, like nothing bad was happening. Except that all of the windows were boarded over haphazardly, with only the door open to the public. I dove in with some chick I think I stole the cart from, and we hid in the fiction book section to look at the trashy romance books about modern cowboys, again as if nothing were happening.

I choose to take away from this the lesson that no matter what kind of apocalypse is 'coming' in 2012, trashy romance novels will live on. And on. And on.