Today, I was wandering aimlessly around downtown DC, thinking only of how horrifically and unnaturally hot every inch of my body was very quickly becoming, when all of a sudden - the clock struck 5:00...
and so it began.
All at once - not slowly, not bit by bit, not even in alternating shifts - the entire workforce of Washington, DC emerged from the secret holes in which they'd been laboring, and crawled purposefully into the blazing sunlight - like zombies infected, now unavoidably programmed to kill.
Droves and droves of pallid men and women, clad in business suits spanning an endless array of neutral tones, quickly filled the vacant streets, covering the ground that only seconds before lay bereft of all life.
With eyes faced determinedly ahead, limbs swinging in unison, and feet moving at an eerily steady pace, the enormous mass of DC employees made their way from their offices of toil towards the nearest point of departure - Union Station.
Unaware that I would be caught in this strange cultural ritual, I failed to dress at all accordingly. My skin-tight yoga pants and arm-bearing spaghetti strap tank-top drew attention to my outsider status, a dangerous scent on which I feared the zombies would pick up - a signal to move in for the kill.
So I did what any fearful human being would in such a situation - I took refuge in camoflauge.
Though I could not alter what I was wearing, I could change my mannerisms, my thoughts, my objective.
Immediately I fell in line with the others, proceeding steadily towards the ultimate destination for which so many of the goal-oriented natives were bound.
Upon my arrival at Union Station, I descended for cover into the deeps of the metro, a place where my odd attire and all-too-alert mental state would be easily hidden among the eclectic swarms of travelers.
And so I made it to safety - though the fear of being discovered by the drones of DC will never - ever - let me rest.
...or is it?
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