Conditional Reality

Darkpin Rollingside drove a taxi. One Friday night he stopped for a fare near the cemetery. Some zombies got in the back seat. Where to? said Darkpin. Take us to the baddest bar around, said the zombies. I know a place, said Darkpin, but it’s in a dangerous part of town. We don’t care! said the zombies. But I do, said Darkpin. It’ll cost you extra. The zombies peeled off sheets of skin and handed it to Darkpin. Darkpin smoothed the skin and put it in his wallet. I like your style, he said, and put his cab into gear.