It was perfect, wasn’t it? Balmy eve. Full moon, fat and silver, peeking out from behind deep blue curtains of cloud. A gentle mob rocking and rolling through the streets, pawing at restaurant and shop windows as the townspeople on the other side of the glass shake their heads and smile. Are they wishing that they, too, were amid the walking dead? Well, maybe next year, they are thinking, because it is so tempting and once experienced, so addicting … and that’s how the crowds grow.
It seemed like they were happening everywhere and I was just happy to be at one of them, but I would have gone to any zombie walk, anywhere, just for a chance to rub shoulders … even if only for a short time … with the undead. Yes, there amid the broken and beleaguered there was a true sense of kinship, a bemused we’re-all-in-this- together je-ne-sais-quoi that transcends politics and economics and makes us dig deeply into what is basic and significant, the creature-comfort of our kind when judgment is suspended and there is nothing to win or lose.
So, a gore-geous night in the pretty little town of Silver Spring that began with meaty treats and slurpy libations at Jackie’s Sidebar and Jackie’s Back Room and then a short stumble through streets lined with folks not yet bitten by the zombie bug. Not YET.
Ahhhh, zombies … you are darling deadlings and I was deliriously happy to be shuffling along in your midst. I was with a deadlightful companion, I met many charming corpses, and DEAD LOVE made its way into a few peeling paws. One zombie tucked it into a lunch bag full of feet and I thought fondly of all the zombies walking in other parts of the globe—especially Toronto; they are quite a fine horde. I hope DEAD LOVE was there, too. Then I downed another drink, had a bite to eat, and eventually tore myself away to sink into dreamy darkness.
—Erin Orison, DEAD LOVE/the Daily Slice