Shifty in the A.M.

Stepcha- stepcha- stepcha-

 Listening to Coolduder talk movies. Before that, Bill Burr. Before that, Karl vs. Steve. And in this unlit room, the glow from a laptop screen light up fingers clacking on a keyboard; copy-pasting html code in an effort to place the playlists on the home page for more fitting access. How's it look? Ooh, more colors. The window is open and the night's cold crawls in. Where I sit I can feel a bit of the chill and it's nice. The streetlight just outside electrifies the surrounding twilight with a harsh yellow squeeze. Though not pretty, it's better than the dusky, empty shade; seen where big trees act as 80 watt goalies. (Yo, no light here, they might say in plant-speak.) Those areas are where shifty gremlins sprout from.

Stepcha- stepcha- stepcha- stepcha

Someone's walking.

Stepcha- Step-

"Yeah strange," I think, shuffling up from the computer and -- ever so slightly -- peeking out from the bottom of the window like a groundhog. "Where?" Scanning left then right with my peepers I catch it! Clad in a white hooded sweatshirt, there it goes, bumbling forward on the sidewalk with sludgy steps.

SLUDGY STEPS!

With jittery eyes I shudder, "From that dusky shade, it can only be one thing . . .

WHITE HOODED SWEATSHIRT ZOMBIES!!!"

Gahhh!! . . . wait.

Stepcha-

Nope. That dude is stumbling along

And zigzagging.

In a sloppy non-pattern.

As it turns out (2:36 a.m.) it's just a drunkard trying to get home without hitting a light pole.