I am waiting to turn into a flesh-eating zombie. I am holding my breath. And it’s not just me. No. It’s your coworker. It’s your best friend. It’s your roommate.
There is something rotten in the city of New York.
There is something viral at least, and it’s claimed too many victims. The symptoms are, well, somewhat symptomless. Mostly it’s a feeling of utter exhaustion coupled with aches and pains. You feel like you’ve been hit by a cross-town bus. You fall asleep at work. Your head feels heavy and your sinuses are somewhat full, but there’s barely any sneezing, and no runny nose to speak of. But you can’t move. You lie in bed with your clothes on, the lights off, praying for an October snow day to skip work.
Everyone has it. It’s going around.
Pretty soon we’ll all be zombies. Let this serve as proof that I never meant to eat your flesh. My bad.