Tae Yamada

I don’t remember who I was before this. I don’t remember much at all, really. What I do know is that sleeves taste crunchy, table legs are satisfyingly fibrous, and arms… well, let’s not dwell on that. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. People expect a zombie, and a zombie I shall be—no more, no less. Somehow, they even find comfort in me. I guess there’s something reassuring about a constant in a world gone weird. I shuffle. I gnaw. I am.