"WANNA DAAAATE?"

I had just finished loading a supply of food in my SUV when I heard a loud feminine screech. "WANNA DAAAATE?" I looked at the opposite side of the street. A zombie girl stood staring at me. She had messy, greasy, blonde hair, bags under her red eyes, and pale skin. She wore a red bikini top that seemed a size too small, making her ample breasts seem larger. She wore a threadbare black miniskirt that barely covered her pussy. She topped off her ensemble with a red purse hanging from her shoulder and black flip-flops on her feet. Her unkempt appearance made her look like a sad, neglected doll. "WANNA DAAAATE?" She started shambling toward me, a sickly grin plastered on her face. Before the zombie apocalypse, she'd probably been a hot honey. Now, though, she was the punchline to an obscene joke. I got in the SUV, slammed the driver-side door shut, and punched the ignition button. I hung a U-ie and headed for a nearby freeway on-ramp. As I drove away, I heard a final cry of "WANNA DAAAATE?"