I was seething, smoldering still from the night before – a fight that I had supposedly lost, I won’t bore you with the details. But smoldering I was, standing in my garage, smoking a cigarette, and very likely muttering angrily to myself (as I’ve been known to do). I wasn’t listening to my iPod, although I had it in my pocket. The first zombie I saw was walking up the road towards my house. He was shuffling a bit, but not as much as you’d think, because he was a young zombie. I lived on the outskirts of a sizable suburb, just at the point where tracts of houses give way to fields of corn. It was fairly unusual to see people walking the road, but it happened now and then. And so this unassuming, though albeit slow walking, guy didn’t make much impression at first. It wasn’t until he seemed to take notice of me, and started walking the slightest bit faster that I became worried. Then as he turned into our driveway rather than walking by, I got even more concerned. At the very least there was a strange man walking decidedly towards me (it was also rather early in the morning, maybe 6:30am). My first reaction was to go back inside, but I ignored it because I didn’t want to be rude if there turned out to be a perfectly good reason for this man to be there. And so I let him get closer while I scrutinized him. He was slightly disheveled, pallid in color, and missing an eye. He also had a rather brutal-looking contusion about his left eye socket. I became alarmed, and again didn’t want to simply walk away from someone in need, and so against my better judgment and my instincts I actually walked over to him.