Not the kind they said.

Not going to last they said.

Couldn't find food, they always said.

Or at least that's what they did say, I had to put a shovel through their head not to long ago. Just a word to the wise, when everything is out to get you make sure you put your money where your mouth is. Also don't ask a hobo to stick his neck out for you 'cause we don't do that, unless a Twinkie is involved, then anything goes.

I was in the big apple when the N-4 medical virus hit the fan in France. Dark days indeed were coming when Zombies somehow got into the U.S. Many people running around, some with brains grabbing guns and food, some people rising up to "lead people to a better place". Godforsaken losers. They had no better idea than the stupid sheep that they were leading. All it was was an act to in a iron curtain fashion build up bodies to fall in front of you. Essence of truth, my ruddy sodden foot.

Nowadays I roam like every other survivor up and down the east coast. Avoiding any large towns or desolate cites. Every now and then I may pass by signs of life or even rarer, another lucky living soul. I've stolen cars, I've broken windows I even got a hand a picking locks. Why? Cause when I wake up the first thing I have to worry about is a lump of moving flesh. Granted half the time that flesh my overworked back, but the other is a twisted fiend that was with one exception once someone’s lover or friend. The one exception being Donald Trump, who I had the fortune of running into last year. Buried his ass pretty damn deep I can tell you.

After waking up my life gets a tad livelyer, or as the old buddies would put it, this hobo has some fun. I take a shower or bath when I can, it used to be a luxury I never had. Nowadays it acts as a sort of peace anchor. If I can take a shower, the world can't be to bad. That and I think zombies retained their since of smell. I tend to scrub harder when that thought comes to my mind.

After my shower and cleaning my clothes. I grab my weapons of choice and head out of whatever lockable house or store I have found. I usually find a nice parking lot and see if any zombies with keys are in the area. I try to get a car as soon as I can. I rarely get a choice I know to tend to the more reliable cars, aka the ones that have dents from earlier zombie-related road kills. If they are good for others they should be good for me.

The rest of my days is spent driving around looking for weapons, bandages, and anything else I could need. The electricity lasted until about 10 years ago, when most of the larger towns went to hell. I hear the west has power, but that was 4 years ago so I doubt it.

The reason I drive every day, even though my driving is a joke, is simple and honest. The worse part of the world these days is the silence. Everyman requires some interaction even if it be it driving, creatively of course, everyone is trying to have the best zombie kill. The roar of an engine is something. The cab of a car is safe (after you check the back seat and such) at 70 mph and gas prices are way down. So come today To Moe’s Used Car Lot, where the keys are by the door and the only thing stopping you is the easily sniped zombie.

Every now and then I see someone else coming the other way, some other survivor, on some mission. I hate to say I care less, they have nothing for me, as beer and food is easy to come by nowadays, the guards of which are easily dealt with by process of burning. True I talk with one when I run into ‘im on the street, exchange bits of rumors, tales, best zombie kills. Guy I met in Fayetteville, NC killed one with a potato launcher. Military guy cleaned out Orlando of nearly 300000 zombies by luring them to that big community center they have and blowing it up on top of them. All stories could or could not be true but cool ideas. I myself killed one with a fart-powered flamethrower, and I have a witness.

Gotta have fun in a zombie apocalypse there nothing else to do. Having no one sucks, as any hobo can tell you. Before the accident I had people, not that I really cared about, but that were there when I really couldn’t make ends meet. They had a little extra food, an extra sock, knew where a nice box was. They’re gone now, bitten, shot, completely eaten who knows. I’m the last hobo.

My days always ended with me finding a new place to stay. One of the vacant rich places with impenetrable rooms. One of a million cookie cutter houses, the kind that before was owned by people more poor than I was, but threw up a mask to hide it.

There a reason they say nobody survives a apocalypse. One by one, people kind themselves to be the last of their kind. The last of their ideals, the last of their hopes and dreams, the last of their fate. It sucks being alone. I know my fate.

It sucks, really.

There is nothing I can do about it. I wouldn’t be the first. I’m at least not the last. I’m not going to find a new place today. Today I picked a fast car. My foot pushed hard on the gas pedal.
90 mph

Really, I guess it is ironic I pick this way, before the apocalypse there was no chance of this happening to me. I guess the quickness of it is best. A quick slam into a solid object and an even quicker snap to my neck and everything is over.

100 mph

The green trees passed by in blurs. Nice bathrooms to me, I guess some would miss them. I won’t, they are lucky, they are the inheritors of the planet. Though it can be thought it never left their capable hands.

110 mph

You know, I wonder what it’s like to miss someone, I don’t right now, and no one gave a damn about me, not even my abusive dad.

120 mph

I guess that’s one of the few things I’ll never know. One can’t finish knowing everything. Or anything.

130 mph

Gosh. Why won’t it just end? I have things to do! Pronounce my sentence!

140 mph

Ahhh… there’s a nice wall. Dark and gray with slime.

150 mph

Goodbye you selfish assholes.

155 mph

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