The lawn was starting to get to him. The ground floor was boarded up, of course, but he could see out the upstairs windows. The tall fescue had gotten to waist-height, and had gone to seed. The ride-on mower was parked right where he’d left it idling three weeks ago: having long ago run out of gas, sputtered, and died.
He had to do something about the situation. If he only had a reel mower he could go out even now and cut the grass: there weren’t any zombies around, no loud noise to attract them. He’d be perfectly safe.
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