There is a boy who lives across the street from us who hangs out in front of his house with his mother every night. He is probably about three years old. He makes strange, repetitive, satisfied moaning sounds for hours on end. We have nicknamed him “Zombie Kid,” because he really does sound like what one would imagine a very young zombie to sound like.

Earlier this evening, instead of moaning, Zombie Kid was crying. I wondered aloud what Zombie Kid could possibly have to be upset about. My roommate Sutter offered, “Maybe the fact that he’s the living dead.” I guess it was a pretty stupid question.