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    The moment you wake up, you find yourself at a very busy intersection.

    “Oop, they’re gonna get charged for that,” your driver says when a car pulls out into the middle, thus ensuring gridlock of traffic. You don’t even try to figure out what she’s talking about so you just write it off to your light-headedness. She yells back at you over the sound of the motorcycle.

    “This is rush hour here, y’know? 3 AM. The roads are privatized up this way, and it’s cheaper for drivers to drive on them at this time of night.”

    You can’t think of anywhere in the United States with privatized roads – except maybe Disney World. Had the orgone rocks sent you to a parallel earth?

    “But other roads are more concerned with their safety records. They don’t have anyone driving from 3 to 5 AM. That’s the zombie zone.” You shudder to think maybe you’d been transported to a world with an undead epidemic.

    “The zombie zone is when we’re most likely to make a mistake driving, so it costs more to drive during that time.”

    She takes in a lengthy yawn and a fat deer fly lodges itself into her trachea, stopping her breathing and your ride on her ATK ends rather violently when you both smash into the side of a truck hauling recliners for Lost Dakota Furniture Outlet.

    The End.




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