A cool breeze tickled the hair on his body. He hung right on Princess Anne, shuddering both at the cold and the empty lot on the corner. The house that once stood there had burned to the ground, leaving shards of plywood, half a decaying chimney, and the blackened stumps of cinder block foundation. The zombie hunched past it, pushing a shopping cart. Silly things, them. Always reverting to old habits.
“Hey!” he shouted, and triggered a blast on the air-horn. “Eeek!”
The beast did nothing.
He jogged forward, holding the air horn out in front of him like a pistol.
“Hey!”
He was honestly irritated at being ignored. Had it not seen his oily Greekness? This made him suddenly self-conscious about his p***s barely poking out of the thicket of hair that joined the copse of his pubis to the forest of hi……
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