Dill laughed. “I'll have to be more careful with the next person I meet so that I don't spoil their clothes. I realise I could do with a fresh set.”
“And a shower too.”
“It's funny, that. I was obsessed with showers until this week. Now I couldn't care less.”
“It's your sense of ennui kicking in.” Gillian hoisted Lucy to a different position on her him. “Your brain is thinking 'what's the point of being clean if by tomorrow I'll have rotted away into a sack of putrefying flesh?'”
“Hmm.” Dill frowned, his mouth working through several silent thoughts. Harold though he might be trying to think of a snappy comeback and failing. He was, fundamentally, a very shy man. Perhaps that's why he felt a degree of friendship toward him. Harold used to be quite shy, too. Gillian was only the the fourth girlfriend he'd ever had. Third, if he didn't count Gemma Parsons, and he didn't really, since she only went out with him twice to make her boyfriend jealous, and wouldn't let him touch her boob. The zombie looked up. “Here comes the lift.”
Harold looked up as the light grew exponentially brighter. The elevator car was only a few feet above them now.
“It's like that game we used to play all the time.” Dill pointed upwards. “The one where you have to match the falling blocks to the holes.”
“I really hope not.” Jasfoup grimaced. “Harold was rubbish at that.”