It was muggy this morning as I walked down the ramp to the parking garage. So muggy and overcast that it almost combined to form a mist. The light flickered overhead like a power outage threatening in a storm. An alarm, constant from a truck, trill-beeped like an eerie omen. "The zombies are loose," it seemed to say, but that would be ridiculous of course.

The zombie-mist faded as I stepped from underneath the cover of the garage and suddenly there were other people, co-workers I didn't recognize because I didn't arrive quite on time. The security guard was familiar, a casual acquaintance even, and we smiled when we said hello—more than polite.

The trill-beep of the truck's warning completely lost in my memory, I entered the cafeteria, saying hello to another acquaintance, thinking belatedly that in response to his friendly "How are you?" I should have said, "Better once caffeinated." I strolled past more-familiar co-workers, smiling and nodding hello once they saw me, dodging the woman who was paying more attention to her coffee than the collision in the making. I turned the corner sharply, part of my normal routine, and pulled on the refrigerator that holds the soda.

It took me a moment to realize it was still padlocked shut.

The coke was safely nestled in its cold cell, red labels bright against the brown-liquid. Like taking a trip to the zoo, I could only tap at the glass. I then realized what the trill-beep zombie alarm was warning. . . .






And now that I have proper change, I'm taking my ass to the vending machine. COOOOOOOOOKE!!!!!