They'll be looking for you
The undead are a persistent bunch, you know. I spent last week leaving increasingly desperate messages on the voicemail of the guy who approves or denies events booked for Beale Street (it's a private street, you know, not public, so you can't just do what you want there without filling out paperwork), thinking he was avoiding me after last year's round of last-minute awkward runaround phone tag that nearly meant we didn't get a permit.
Turns out last week he was in Houston rooting for the Tigers — not intentionally avoiding the zombie uprising. So that last message I left him where I demanded that he call me back because it was "very important"? Probably a tad melodramatic.
But just a tad.
That's, like, thisbig.