H.E.U
A half-dead, smelly, hot mess who can’t stop sniffing your neck and trying to bite you.
He showed up at my door with a zombie grin and a stink that could rot a tooth.
My H. E. U asked if I wanted to ‘romance’ him in the graveyard. I said no, but I still followed him.
He texted me: ‘I’m coming to your house. Bring snacks. And a chainsaw.’