Olivia stands in the doorway. She mops sweat from her brow, an overstuffed and collapsing moving box next to her.
–– You’ve been zombies for days. Would it kill you to help out?
Amidst sounds of zombie slaying, Toby shrugs. Ollie walks up to the doorway and picks up the box, careful (kinda) to keep its innards from spewing all over the entryway. He kisses her on the forehead and carries the box into the living room. She rolls her eyes.
Setting the box down, Ollie stares at the post-apocalyptic alpha male cardboard nightmare spread across what was once Olivia’s living room. Chuck Norris DVD collection. Trophies (mostly second place). Books (auto-hagiographies of sports stars and Donald Trump). Trash bags of clothing (one filled only with white ankle socks).
He pulls a stuffed animal from one of the bags. A one-eyed blue chameleon. He stares into its glassy eye. Fiddles with the feet. He points it at Toby, sitting on the couch, flanked by moving boxes, his attention resting on the digital zombie slice ’n dice.
Greg snatches the chameleon from Ollie’s hand and stuffs it in a box as he heads out the door. Ollie smirks. He pushes boxes aside and sits next to Toby.