“Not preparing is choosing to die.”  I read that somewhere, probably on the wall of a public bathroom stall. I don’t want to die.  At least not too gruesomely.  And not slow either.   Preferably in my sleep, but the chances of that are rather slim these days.   Stupid zombies.  Can’t even die properly anymore.   Sun’s out today after a week of rain, the full blast of its rays reaching out to melt my retinas through the double-glazed lounge window.  It was a beautiful and spectacular morning — well,  almost.  If the quiet wasn’t occasionally intruded by the groaning of the undead, echoing in the distance. Finn slept over last night, after a PS4 marathon of Dying Light, and was snoring away in the spare room, so I refrained from checking [Read More]


        Iron Man and Captain America were standing outside of Nicoletta’s Cake Boutique. And they had a gun pointed at me.   I’ve never seen a gun shop in Wellington, so I wondered if the masked men intended to squirt me with water as a joke.  Since my claim to fame was making choripanes, instead of stopping bullets with my bare hands, I didn’t take the risk of finding out. Apparently, they were assholes instead of clowns.  I wasn’t laughing either when they took my bag, my crow bar, my half-eaten cream cheese bagel… everything, goddammit!  Even the pack of Carefree sanitary pads that I found that morning.  Why the fuck would they need those?  Far as I know, men didn’t get monthly periods. Good thing they didn’t bother to check my pockets, because I would [Read More]


        The sun was out, threatening to burn my corneas through the window.  It would’ve been a beautiful day if not for the stench of rotten meat that invaded the room.  So I sprayed the kitchen with the can of air freshener I found in one of the cupboards.  The space around me smelled like rotten meat, with a touch of Ocean Mist. I was looking to stockpile more instant coffee, my feet bringing me to a two-story residence in Maupuia.  It was roughly 45 minutes walking distance from my hideout in Miramar.  30 if you run.   My quest for caffeine made me run.   Thud.  Upstairs.  My ninja senses were on edge, tingling in anticipation.  Fight or flight.   I went to investigate.  I could feel the creaking of the stairs in my teeth.  Bedroom [Read More]

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