![]() ![]() Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweater, skirt and a blouse. We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. ![]() His clothes are holey jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. Before I became a zombie I must have been a businessman, a banker or broker or some young temp learning the ropes, because I'm wearing fairly nice clothes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of a vacation. Just the grey skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. My friend 'M' says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off. It's funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people's names. Mine might have started with an 'R', but that's all I have now. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. ![]() I'm sorry I can't properly introduce myself, but I don't have a name any more. ![]()
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