10
John Doe?
“Good thing your brother Walt boarded up this shithole, Belinda,” said a tall guy with muscles the size of cantaloupes, which were protruding from his Harley Davidson tank.
“Yeah, and good thing the dumb f**k’s wife got her flu shot,” chuckled a raspy bleached blond woman. She wore a Metallica tank top, a miniscule leather skirt, and tall black boots. She looked like a heavy metal groupie from the eighties; one that hadn’t aged well. “Otherwise,” she said, “I’d have had to kick his ass out of here myself.”
“I’m sorry you missed out on that,” said the big guy as he came up behind the woman and put an arm around her waist. “But I’m sure his zombie wife did him in just fine.”
She nodded. “She did many guys fine, I’ve heard.”
“Wow,” snorted a short, greasy-haired guy who was
