Uff, the traffic.

I took the window seat in bus today, back home from the office—turns out, it wasn’t just a seat… it was a front‑row ticket to a zombie apocalypse. On two wheels.

They didn’t arrive like normal traffic.
They emerged.
In flocks.

Dozens, then hundreds—moving with that eerie, unstoppable instinct. No lanes, no logic—just pure, chaotic motion. Left, right, squeezing through impossible gaps like, “Rules? Never heard of them.”

For a second, I wondered—were they riding the bikes, or were the bikes riding them?

And the characters in this apocalypse—unforgettable.

The Helmetless Wanderers — faces bare, eyes fixed somewhere beyond reason.

Footpath Champions — two‑wheelers in full zombie mode: brains optional, horn mandatory.

The Multi‑Headed Creatures — three, sometimes four on one bike, perfectly balanced, like evolution took a wild turn.

The Connected Zombies — phones tucked inside helmets, talking nonstop, as if receiving instructions from some invisible control tower.

The Tilted‑Neck Tribe — phones wedged between shoulder and ear, bending physics—and probably a few neck bones too.

Some sped past like infected sprinters—the Tashan Runners: fast, flashy, untouchable.

Others drifted slowly—the Zen Walkers: calm, unbothered, blocking entire lanes with peaceful indifference.

Horns blared, brakes screamed—but nothing broke their trance. It was like they were all following the same strange rhythm.

For 35 kilometers straight, not a single empty patch. Just an endless swarm.

And as I sat there, watching this moving maze of metal and madness, one thought hit me—

This isn’t traffic.
This is a zombie parade.

Chaotic. Fearless. Slightly terrifying… and somehow, still moving forward.