I had a doctor’s appointment that Friday. Got one of those diagnoses where they give you a pamphlet and a pitying look they’re trying desperately to hide, and regardless of their success you’re a zombie the rest of the day.
I wonder if they’ll even eat me. I wonder if they can smell the death on me. Or, in me. I wonder if I walked out into my front yard and threw my head back and stood there with the sun on my face, whether they would think of me as food or as one of their own.
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