And thus we find ourselves just one quotidian workweek away from the impending naked apocalypse. Time to dust off the pasties and welcome the fine, furry flash fiction of Mike Cho. Why ask why? Question      If tonight was the last night I called the police (who never come) on the college neighbors from upstate or Jersey or from wherever they come, drunk and 3 AM partying in the hall because this was not anyone’s home but merely sorority or dorm, the cute little studio they’d always remember from their big year alone in the city, paid for by daddy as long as they kept up their grades (they didn’t), didn’t take drugs (they did), and found a job, somewhere (Armani Exchange), and if today was the last day I complained about any of this because tomorrow, lashing out in helpless, hopeless anger at the apocalypse in which we already lived, wrought by my co-workers, with their ceaseless “did you see...”, and “did you hear...”, and Oprah, and Dancing, and Idol, and everything loudness: disappointment, joy, loneliness, hunger, pain, anger, relief, everything, the new Four Loud Horsemen of the Apocalypse: ignorance, incompetence, laziness and tastelessness (not as in they had bad taste but that they just didn’t care), literally screaming though they were all right beside one another, because how else would you know how they feel, and how much they feel, and how valid and informed they thought their feelings were if it was not loud, the world split itself into pieces, and the neighbors go flying out their window into the sky as I stand eating carrot sticks at my own, with my cat, watching as they disappear six stories below into the center of an undulating crowd of ravenous zombies, and then the lions eat the zombies, and then the grinning face of the exploding sun eats them all: co-workers, neighbors, zombies, lions, car alarms, jackhammers, sirens, and every drunken douche in New York City, all burning, burning, and then…finally…gone, and if all this really happened, and if the world really did end, does that mean that I can finally (FINALLY) get...some...sleep? Mike Cho’s adventures can be followed at http://twitter.com/mkcho73 and http://nycityofmike.blogspot.com. And you still have time to choose your own apocalypse and email it to .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) for public consumption. (Like by zombies, only scarier.)