Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 205 Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the young
fresh graduates off the street for nearly half of what they paid
me.
    I work hard, but I see no reason to waste any
part of my lunch break in the john. Other than a pen or two and
maybe a few sheets of copy paper, those fifteen minutes are my only
extra compensation for the wonderful job I did at Comdex. But I
suppose I should quit rambling and just start at the beginning.
    Lunch had been a frantic race to find
Rebecca, the sandwich girl. She made her rounds in our building
every day, but ultimately she seemed to forget me three times a
week. It wasn’t by accident of course. I don't know what her
problem was. I mean, sure I asked her out once, but when she said
no I didn't push. I don't know why everything got awkward after
that. I'm an adult and she's an adult, just because she didn't want
to be an adult with me doesn't mean I don't still like
sandwiches.
    That day, by the time I caught up to her on
the third floor, all she had left was turkey on rye. I can't stand
rye bread, why would anyone fuck up a perfectly good loaf of bread
like that? I bought it anyway, because I hate spending the
afternoon with an empty stomach more than I hate rye.
    She sold the sandwich to me, but was very
flippant about it, like just because I chased her down to purchase
something for lunch, she had grounds for a sexual harassment
suit.
    As if, I thought. Plenty of other girls out
there refused to date me, why would she think she was so
special.
    I mean, sure Rebecca was attractive and had
eyes that flirted from across the room whether she knew it or not,
but I don't see how selling sandwiches out of a basket puts you
anywhere close to the top of the most eligible single woman
list.
    Anyway, I had to eat my sandwich on the move.
By the time I caught up to her, purchased the sandwich, and got my
change, I had ten minutes left to get back to my office.
    The elevator ride back up to the fourth floor
was not at all note worthy. I got a few strange looks from the
other passengers because I was woofing down my turkey on rye, but
fuck them. There is no law that says you're supposed to stand all
ridged staring at the numbers above the door waiting for your
floor. I was hungry and I wasted precious time chasing down the
bitch that didn't have time to date me.
    I got off the elevator on my floor, humming
the tune to some bluesy number that had been playing in there. I
tried to remember the words but quickly gave it up, words were not
my thing. Numbers were my thing.
    I made my way to my cubical eating my entire
sandwich except the bottom crust; I tossed that into my wastepaper
basket. I booted up my computer and made sure the spreadsheet on my
screen looked like I had been working hard. My screensaver was set
for twenty minutes, more than enough time for me to hit the
restroom, but still have proof that I had returned from lunch and
started crunching the sales figures again.
    I gave Marcy a little wave as I passed the
reception area. She looked right at me but pretended that she
didn't see, putting her hand up to the headset she was wearing and
turning in her plush leather office chair.
    Bitch.
    I had been there for her. When she and Julio
from the mailroom broke up, I was her shoulder to cry on. I
bolstered her self esteem. I helped her understand that Julio's
need to screw other people had nothing to do with her. And what did
I get for all my trouble?
    Nothing, that's what.
    I didn't force myself on her. I mean, that's
what you're thinking, right? That I tried to make a move on her
while she was crying in my arms. Well, that's not how it happened
at all. I was a perfect gentleman. After she had somewhat recovered
from her falling out with “Don Juan” Julio, she started badmouthing
me all over the office, said I tried to take advantage of her.
There is no doubt in my mind that it was because she had seen my
crappy studio apartment and had second thoughts about me and
her.
    She played it off like I was relentless in my
pursuit of her to