Last night I had a dream about flesh-eating zombies. In the dream, I was working on a legal document, some kind of contract, that we had to print out and hang on the front door of the club. The purpose of this document was to prohibit the presence of flesh eating zombies inside the DNA Lounge. But I had phrased it subtly wrong, and so the zombies kept filing in with the customers, and eating their brains. These were classic Romero zombies, too, smelly and shambling. I jerked awake in a cold sweat. My girlfriend asked "what's wrong?" "Flesh eating zombies," I explained. "There are no zombies, baby, it's ok." "Yes there are."