Oddly enough, I don't often have zombie dreams. Perhaps because I have spent so much of my waking time preparing for the coming zombie apocalypse, they just aren't features of my nocturnal landscape.
My first night in Chicago, however, featured a humdinger of a zombie dream. And in this zombie dream I was completely unarmed. As a matter of fact, scratch "dream" and substitute "nightmare". The last thing I remember about it was trying to talk my way out of getting bitten when I got myself cornered; that's right, I was reduced to tearfully pleading for mercy and attempting to reason with the zombie. For some reason, the zombie was as unamenable to logic as the typical Chicago voter... Wait, that's not a good analogy because, speaking statistically, the "typical Chicago voter" probably is a zombie. There're a lotta stiffs in Rosehill, after all.
I wonder if the fact that I was farther from my sidearm than I've been in probably the last fifteen years had anything to do with it?