I had a lazy morning.

I ate my first bag of Doritos (29 left) and watched Friends. I really can’t stand that Ross guy. Eventually I figured I didn’t have any excuse for not stretching my legs, so I got dressed: big old duster coat for pretending to be a cowboy (or in this case, keeping radioactive ash out of my clothes), rubber gloves, wading boots, pig-snout gas-mask and Bessie, that .308 I was talking about. I knew I looked like a complete goof, but something told me noone was going to point this out any time soon. On the off-chance someone did, thats why I had the rifle.

Topside, a few hours hadn’t improved the scenery all that much, but then again, neither would the next million years. I picked a direction – the center of town I supposed was somewhere in a slightly taller pile of rubble to the North – and strode on, passing my skull/ashtray on the way. A few paces on, I looked back – the shelter was an eerie, perfect door amidst endless, blowing ash and waste – like something out of the twilight zone.