they swim in the old forgotten parts of the sea. in and out of the twisted metal wreckage of battleships and bombers and ocean liners. i hear them singing.
here in my front room. the windows are open tonight. they say it may snow. unshaven, unshowered and sober, i shiver. i unbuckle my seat belt and walk though the empty cabin.
i feel lucky. the pain in my stomach tells me otherwise, but i wont listen, not tonight. tonight i meet the zomboys.
i walk forward and open the cockpit door. it is empty as i expected it to be. headphones dangle and sway. little bits of paper swirl about my feet and i smile.
tonight i shall dance in the temple of the zomboys. i turn around, shutting the cockpit door behind me and slowly dance down the empty aisle toward the tail section. soon. soon.
i stand in front of the mirror in the airplane lavatory and practice concealing my glee.