The Walking Dead

They told him his tires would be ready in an hour. He found the waiting room where they said it would be, in the back of the building. A woman was standing near the coffee machine.

“How’s the coffee,” he said.

“It’s gone,” she said.

He returned to his table to wait. She left. He was alone. He turned off the television. “Why is it that so many waiting room televisions are tuned to Fox,” he said to the empty room. He opened his book and began reading.

A different woman, this one with her young daughter came in sat at a nearby table. He knew she would. He knew he should have hidden the controller. He knew the Fox would return, and it did.

There was a break. The talking heads left. An ad aired. He sighed, relieved that the shrill, hoarse, screams of anguish from the Fox would cease. It, the ad, was about “The Walking Dead.” They had stopped walking earlier in the year and had just recently begun walking again. The Fox with its talking heads returned. The mom shushed her daughter. The daughter said, “I like the walking dead.”

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