From ZOMBIE CAFÉ:
Running along a street, even being chased by a pack of the undead, Lisa had to pause when she saw it: a lighted storefront.
Not done, simply not.  Zombies didn’t need light; humans needed the dark to hide from the Zs. She’d lost track of how long it had been since the NOTLD­—Night of the Living Dead—changed from horror flick to fact, but definitely long enough that any lights left on since the event had burned out or been bashed out by the still quick among the Earth’s population.
Speaking of quick, she didn’t really pause at all. Her feet didn’t stop, she didn’t falter in her habitual visual sweep of the area around her, but a surprised “huh,” punctuated one exhale while she slid her back along the solid wall of a building on the unlit side of the thoroughfare. Blink. She turned away. Then her eyes darted again to the windows up ahead. Hallucinations had been known to happen after too many hours on the run sans any stops for food or sleep. Blink again. Clear vision, clear mind, but the sight in front of her remained.
Multicolored neon signs shed electric blues, pinks, and greens onto the pavement, announcing way too many beer brands for one joint. Other words, that make no sense seen together in one place, filled the windows almost frame to frame: “cash now,” “next day drop off,” “tattoos,” “donuts tacos burgers,” “live bait,” “games comics cards.” Interspersing the words were glowing stylized icons of scissors, roses, ice cream cones—you name it.
She detoured, angling her flight to get a closer look. Shuffled footsteps barely audible in the alley behind, she figured she had a little time—enough to slow down for a second or two to check this out. Once past the storefront, the lights would no doubt distract her pursuers long enough to make up for the lost time and enable her to outdistance them.
She noticed the one relatively dark spot in the windows. Moving forward, readjusting her vision, she got the second, third and fourth shocks of the night: In the only non-neon lighted section of the window was a poster board sign that read: HELP DESPERATELY NEEDED! No pay. Safe Environment. Only humans need apply. Inside zombies were seated at tables, staring up at a flat screen TV in the far corner and daintily—for the undead—snacking from platters placed before them by…shocker number four: living, breathing humans among them zipping back and forth from table to booth to counter.