Death Warmed Over
One of the girls at the rock shop in Austin, frankly sexist term, but they all agreed it was fine if I used it, me and her, I’ve known her most of her adult life, she’s an avid reader. While some of the staff might congregate outside and smoke cigarettes, that one will be in the back with a book propped up, reading and eating her lunch. She tends to read on break.
My people.
Although, to be fair, I’ve yet to sell her on the idea of digital media, but that’s another argument.
We’ve exchanged books in the past, and she was going on and on about how I would like this one, called Death Warmed Over, as it was snappy and weird.
“Like you, Kramer.”
Her words, exactly.
Flipping open the trade paperback, I was instantly won over with the title’s dedication to another author I respected — and admired — at the time.
I would suppose, a zombie as private detectives doing it as noir is a bit over the top, but as entertainment and quick-witted prose taking on tropes and symbols with an eye to satirize current events, even?