Walz shuddered in the cold winter air. The creak of the old hardwood registered as gunfire in his crack-addled brain. He hadn't chewed open a child and fed on their organs in a while, and it showed. Eyes sunken, bloodshot, constantly hyperventilating. His hands shook as another tremor of addiction rushed through his AIDS-infested body.

"This crack aint shit..." he muttered, staring at the last portion in the ziplock bag. The dealer had added crushed chitin to the mix and when burnt in his last crack pipe, it had made him almost throw up with the stench. How far the former Governor had fallen. He tried to pull up his diary, but the internet connection had long since gone - some nigger must've pulled up the cabling to sell for more crack.

"Pen and paper it is..." Walz sighed.

Easier said than done, the HIV infection had messed up his nerves and without regular access to the serum, even holding a pen was beyond him. "The stupid grocery stores aren't making food anymore..." he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. His office was empty, looted already - but he dared not say that out loud. The roving packs of cannibals that ruled the streets were on HIS side.

Or so he told himself as he scribbled down rambling notes that went nowhere. "Oh my Fauci, I'm literally Anne Frank!" he whimpered.