Fed up and disgusted by the spectacle that takes place on a daily basis at the gates of New Bunker, I grease the wheels of the machine and pass through it like unwanted shit and fall into the cesspool of humanity that is this supposedly great city. I’m supposed to meet some shadowy figure in a recondite little bar that I will omit the name of for the safety of everyone involved. How this meeting will occur is a puzzle that I can’t quite make sense of. I don’t know who this person is, and as I’ve said before, there’s about as many people who know what yours truly looks like as there are survivors of a zombie bite. The whole thing makes me nervous and has my stomach in knots. As almost an afterthought I realize that I’m actually in a bar. It’s been years since I’ve had the pleasure of imbibing anything other than home-made moonshine. I catch the bartender’s eye with a lazy gesture and order whatever passes for scotch.
It is then when I take notice of the evenings’ entertainment. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…
