Richmond Sucks Less Than A Zombie Horde

One time something occurred, in the distance, maybe a dam burst, and the zombies came. Except they could talk and reason, they went door to door, asking questions. I was with a woman and her little girl when they came in. They had a dog. The little girl hid behind her mother, crying as quietly as she could without the dog hearing her. Later, I would put the dog in the corner of one of my paintings for Javier Tapia. One dog under the skin of another, blank eyes staring from behind empty socket flaps. A doberman snout protruding past the snout of a pitbull, barking at me.