We were many months into the zombie outbreak and it was now the middle of winter. A group of people trudged through the snow in the backyard and told us that we had been squatting in their house. “It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?” I asked, “we’re just doing the best we can.”

Someone was getting my laundry out of the dryer and asked why there was a bunch of microplastics in my jeans. I emptied out the pockets of the pants I was wearing to find that it was stuffed with rubber bands, safety pins, and paperclips. The pair of jeans from the dryer also had a small bottle of liquor and an ashtray.

I was trying to catch a frog in the garden by slowly following it. I eventually cornered it near a flower bed and pulled it out of the dirt like a weed. Someone remarked that they never knew that compost was made from putting “raw stuff” in the dirt. “What do you mean?” I asked, unsure what else they could’ve thought compost was made from.