“I’m a foot model.”
“Foot… model?”
“Yeah. For catalogues.”
Emma put on her best oh-Jesus smile. Another long day at the job centre. “OK, James. And why can’t you do that any more?”
James looked uneasy. “I lost my toes.”
Oh. Jesus.
“You lost them?”
“It wasn’t my fault! I tripped and – ”
“You know the policy, James.”
“No! I can still work, I can do hands! Look at them, don’t they look alive?”
He was still protesting as security dragged him off to the incinerator.
She’d never understood why they let zombies into the labour pool to begin with.
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