“I have no idea.” “You’d know her. She has a tattoo of an angel that starts on her stomach and the wings wrap around her and up her back.” “I wasn’t looking at her stomach.” “Oh man. She does this scene with these two other chicks.” “I don’t need to hear about this from you.” “No, listen. All the chick cosmonauts quit the space program and joined a traveling circus. They’re all dressed like clowns, only their noses are dildos—” “Stop right there and tell me about Drifters.” He stares at me. If he had regular hands, he’d give me the finger. “At least get me her autograph.” “If you promise not to talk about clown fucking, I’ll get her to Xerox her ass for you.” “Think I could meet her?” “Are you crazy? She kills Drifters. What’s she going to make of you?” “I’m not a zombie.” “You’re undead. She’ll think you’re a new model Lucifer just invented.” “Do you know anything about zombies at all?” “Yeah. They smell like an abandoned slaughterhouse when you pull their spines out.” “You know about spines. That’s a start. What else do you want to know?” “Everything. But I don’t need a Ph.D. Just give me the Trivial Pursuit version.” “Okay.” He looks at me. “You’re really going to get me her autograph?” “Christ.” “Forget it. Tell me about the zombies last night.” “They stank. They were stupid. They drooled and grunted and tried to bite us.” He nods. “Zeds and zots.” “What?” “Zombie shoptalk. They’re zeros. Dumbest of the dumb. Nothing more than a mouth with legs. What most people call golems.” “It sounds like there’s something besides golems.” “See? Who says you have a learning disability?” “Yeah, who says that?”
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