In the morning he awakes with a splitting head, his own dead grey matter seeping out of the crack in his receding skull. Immediately, before anything else, the zombie flicks on television. In this hour, before the sun is high enough to shine, only infomercials are shown. On every channel, something is sold, a book for travellers, or a towel for pet owners, or a substance to clean blood from the carpet. But as revolting this television is, the Zombie cannot help but watch it. Food for the brain, so to speak.
However his workday must begin, usually with a shuffle, a noise, from outside his window. A neighbour of the same disposition, going to work on the surviving humans. With decomposing tongues, initially the zombies can only communicate in vowels. Slowly, as the body degrades past recognition, vowels become impossible for them and simple noises are their only refuge. So, his neighbour Ugh calls out for him, “Urgh!” and together they leave, to kill or be killed, as one with another.