Only the strong survive.
Whatta my friends call me? They don't call me nothin' because they all dead. I'll see 'em still, though, or least I'll see they bodies, limpin' through the street, dead-eyed as the skelton of a long dead ox.
I remember when this'n all started. They's all talkin' 'bout, when's your exp'ration date? How long'll it take you to go bad? They gets to me and they say, Twink, when's your's comin', an' I say back, I ain't got no date on me. An' they laugh and call me ar'gant, but the truth is, soon's you start talkin' about exp'ration dates, you one step closer to bein' in the ground. Survivin' is believin', that's how I always live.
The real frustratin' thing 'bout it all is I ain't got no one here to tell, told ya so. All I got is them things, an' they ain't much for talkin'.