3 Chapter 3

At that I’d simply turn and start my encore: Cher, always Cher. And, no, no Auto-Tune for the likes of her. At least not for her first thirty years in the biz. Plus, I’m fairly certain that she ultimately survived the solar blast. Mainly because after a nuclear attack the only things left, or so it was prophesized, would be cockroaches and Cher. Though, to be fair, I hadn’t seen a cockroach in well over several hundred years. Go figure.

Anyway, at least it broke up the monotony. That and if I didn’t regularly use my muscles, rigor, with a great deal of mortis, would settle in for a long winter’s nap. Truth is, it’s hard enough to speak let alone lip-synch, but far be it from me to withhold my, um, talents from the masses, slim though said masses were.

Funny thing is, it was the zombies who really enjoyed my show. And not the New San Francisco zombies either. No, I mean the ones outside the fences. Now they were an attentive lot.