I hate Mondays.
"Yeah, who doesn't," you say.
Well, people who have Mondays off, for one.
Unfortunately, my job begins its week on Mondays. So do most. And most people drive the same way to work on Monday mornings as I do. Or so I thought.
My least favorite thing about Monday mornings is the traffic. People drive 35 miles an hour on the freeway for no apparent reason. Two people almost hit me at the same time this morning. No one honked. I found this a particularly strange event for Phoenix. I've never known anyone to fart without getting honked at. So I looked into one of the cars which I thought contained a working drone, such as myself. Then it all became clear. I knew then why Monday morning drives are so terrible. I knew why traffic was so god damned slow. I knew why no one seemed to have any idea what the hell was going on.
I thought the man inside may have been eating a pop tart. Perhaps it was a granola bar. No. It was a human arm.
This man was a zombie.
When I got to work I did some research on my computer. According to Wikipedia, the zombies make their way back down out of the hills in Globe to their homes in the cemetaries of the valley. Needless to say, I was only mildly surprised. If zombies were going to come from anywhere, it would be Globe.
