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My name is Blake. If you have no idea who I am, then no worry. You won't need to know

anything about my past to read this, and if you want to skip the intro bullshit, feel

free to skip ahead. Here's what's funny about life-changing experiences. It's really

fucking tough to go back to normal. After I left infected town for the final time, I returned

to San Francisco to find I no longer had a job, an apartment or almost any friends. I wasn't

particularly surprised, of course. I've been gone for nearly three years. My bank account

was okay, and I managed to track down some of the stuff that my landlord hadn't sold.

But I was broke, jobless, and sleeping out of the old pickup truck for a solid month

there. I took the opportunity to cut ties and make a fresh start in my new town. So

it worked out okay for me. But I guess what I'm saying is, if I had a criminal record,

no college degree or even fewer bucks in the bank, I'd have been futtily upped. I've never

mentioned that. At the end of the adventure books when the hero beats the big bad and

begins his journey home, they never show the fallout when he actually gets there. Not

that I'm a goddamn hero. I should get my drift. Once I settled down and find a grateful

employment, I tried to live a normal life. Get up coffee in a cigarette, go to work, come

home, smoke a joint, fall asleep, wash rinse repeat. No friends, no Claire, no family. Yeah.

...