Special Report -- I like to drive slowly past houses at night and peer inside the windows. Not in a creepy way -- in fact, I don't even want to see people at all if they're in there. They are a distraction and block my view. You don't need to look at someone to see their life.
Being in motion while peeping is very important. It renders the scene in 3D. Incandescent sunset tones complemented by the bluish amalgamated glow of LCD TVs. Really makes the woodwork pop.
Maybe I've spent too much time underground. I like it well enough -- the sense of enclosure and security, the soothing hiss of a dehumidifier, the lack of drafts. What would you pay for complete protection from the threat of pillaging militias or rampaging mutants? Everything you have, when the time comes.
My present circumstances above ground are very pleasant. I'm not far from my bunker's entrance, so no worries on that account. I have my computer, a backup computer, my shortwave radio, and all the fresh latkas and sour cream I can eat, which is a lot. Everything else is stored below, warehoused for whatever follows the Pre-Post-Apocalypse.
You surface-dwellers don't appreciate what you have up here, which is probably why you flirt with losing it. Clove-scented wood fires and the distant rumble of dumpster thunder. Feral cats. Moonlight so bright that it casts hard shadows. When did you stop looking at the moon?
Freezing rain fell as I crept home last night. I don't mind driving a few extra miles to stock up on potted meat product -- truly the Tom Cruise of near-food items -- if the price is right, but Kroger's had only sixty-three cases.
The country road ran out of Magic Salt before it ran out of mileage. I imagined a conversation something like:
"We've been at this for over seven hours. Let's break for lunch."
"Taco Bell or Burger King?"
"Taco Bell gives me the shits."
"KFC then."
I arrived at the intersection bare moments after the accident occurred. The compact car was underneath the delivery truck's lift gate, stopped by the International Harvester's rear axle.
I wondered if the Nissan's driver resided in the rural neighborhood. I wondered if I had seen his living room, his life. I wondered if I could have ducked faster.
If I don't know the answers I will lie convincingly.
Leave your curtains open. I'll see you later.
