Several years ago, when I lived on the south side of St. Cloud, my landlord, who lived downstairs from me, enlisted my help moving a china hutch that he had just purchased at an auction into his house. It was an old and unwieldy piece of furniture, it was heavy, but the two of us could move it without too much trouble.

We wrestled the piece out of the moving truck he'd rented and were taking a short break in the front yard before we attempted to get it into the house when we were approached by a black man somewhere in his 40s who struck up a conversation with the two of us. It started out normally enough, the weather, the fact that the china hutch looked heavy and the like, and then it took a turn into the weird.

The man started telling us about all the zombies in St. Cloud and how they were going to try to take over the world, and that he was apparently the only person around who knew.

"They're envious of us," he said, "because we have life and they don't and they want it. They try to be just like us, but I know what they look like."

Then he told us about his upstairs neighbor.

"He's one. He stays up all night and sleeps during the day. I don't know where he gets all his money from, but it's got to be the same place that he gets all that pussy."

He didn't seem agitated or frightened. I know I would be if zombies were out and about. He was very matter of fact about everything. In fact, the only thing that seemed to bother him was the fact that his upstairs zombie neighbor seemed to have a lot of spending cash. And a lot of girlfriends.

We shortened our break and found that a great work motivator is "getting away from the crazy guy" is, and had that hutch moved into the house in no time.

That's almost 10 years ago now and I'm still waiting for the zombie apocalypse.

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