Alive and holed up with nowhere to go.
Sleeping off a hangover and a few days of drug fueled isolation with my internet disconnected in a feeble attempt to put a dent in the growing pillar of work that needed to be done meant that I managed to luckily miss the initial wave of hysteria. A lucky trip to BJ's just before the outbreak and a sudden drop in the amount of household members meant that I had food for quite a few weeks. A third floor apartment meant that I was secure from any unwelcome intruders, if only because my door can be barricaded just before the staircase with sheer mass. On that note, I miss my sofa.
Since then, a half mile trek to the closest shopping center was surprisingly uneventful considering how slow these things are and the wide, open arterial road right next to me. GNC does its best to provide with tasteless nutrients in powder form, though I'm likely slowly overdosing on at least a few vitamins to ensure getting enough of the others. I don't suppose my situation will change much, but there's nothing else to do and I haven't seen any signs of life. Well, not any sort of life my starved mirror neurons care for.
There's an above ground train track a few minutes away from me with a poorly sealed off fence. I'd venture a guess that the train tracks would be an excellent mode of transportation, with the shambling buggers not agile enough to avoid the holes, along with the high visibility it offers. Unfortunately, with nowhere to go, there is no reason to venture beyond the areas I know and survive in.
I miss music.
Human interaction. Possibly not even that. A rifle.