We stood at the corner of the Avenue of Spires and the Avenue of the Unwashed Masses, in the shadows of the storied spires and amid the throngs of unwashed masses.  I had been looking for a pie shop and my best friend in the world, Ellwood Cyrene, was looking for a weapons smith who could sharpen his short sword.  Coming up the avenue, which is to say the Avenue of Spires and not the Avenue of the Unwashed Masses, was a line of mounted knights and in front of them, on a proud white stallion, in shining armor, with a purple cloak, shining blond hair, was Elleena Posthuma, Queen of Aerithraine, Guardian of the Faithful, Protector of the Realm, and the only woman in the entire world that I have ever truly loved.

“Majesty,” I said as she passed, bowing deeply at the waist.

She continued on without a glance, as did the entire line of knights.

“WTF?” said I.

“What are you on about?” asked Ellwood.

“She didn’t say anything.” said I.  “She didn’t even glance down at me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t understand it.  She should have known me.  I was once privileged to spend a fortnight in her company.”

“Eaglethorpe,” said Ellwood.  “She’s the Queen.  She doesn’t know you.  Get it into your head.”

“The Queen of Aerithraine and I are like this,” said I, crossing my fingers.

“Eaglethorpe, you and the Queen are not even on the same hand.”  Ellwood folded his arms across his chest, and cocked his head to the side.  “Do you think that armor made her ass look big?”

I ran down the alley, and every zombie within
the sound of my shout, which is to say all of them, followed after me.  Zombies can’t resist a big juicy brain, especially one that can perform geometric calculations, solve quadratic equations, or conjugate verbs in a foreign language, none of which I can
actually do, but zombies are perhaps not as discerning as they should be.

I darted this way and that, easily outpacing the decaying monsters.  They were slow but came on inexorably, which is to say unrelentingly or inevitably or remorselessly, or in this case all three.  I rounded another corner and came face to face with the end of the alley.  It was a dead end, which would have been ironic had I been chased by living things, but as I was being chased by dead things, it was just sort of poetic.  I turned around and the zombies continued toward me, just as inexorable and unrelenting and inevitable and remorseless as before.