analysis of disease is no laughing matter by brenna singman
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He just needed another few minutes to rest before continuing. After all of these years, major cities had been abandoned. No help could be found there with the onset of the deadly laughter-the Laugh Track as it was called-and to keep anything from spreading, the cities had been flattened by fire bombs. Years of hiding, years of praying later, Stuart had to return home. If for nothing else, he wanted to end his days somewhere familiar.
Stuart took a few steadying breaths from behind his strapped on mask and pushed away from the wall. It was then that he noticed the graffiti tag. He snickered. "Must be the 90s cuz this place is da bomb! Easton got hit harder than I thought."
Stuart turned down 8th Avenue and its yawning, abandoned distance while trying to get his bearings. The last time he had been in the city, it was a cacophony of the inevitable dead gasping for breath as they laughed their final laughs, clutching to anyone to help them. Finally he started walking in what seemed to be an eastward direction. The city had poorly stood the test of time. High rises were shaved in half or crumbled into rubble. Stuart passed some old haunts. His favorite pizzeria was now ash mixed with disturbing stickiness.